


The Crossing

by ficdirectory



Series: Disuphere series [3]
Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Cerebral Palsy, Child Abuse, Depression, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Fire, Gen, Implied Sexual Assault, Implied miscarriage, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, Kidnapping, Medical Trauma, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Racism, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 65,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Few people know that Dominique Williams was abducted in October, 2009.  No one knows she leaned on the knowledge that another little boy, Jesus Foster, was missing, too.  That Dominique coped by making Jesus her invisible friend.  So, it really is the last thing Dominique expects: seeing Jesus in real life when his family is in the midst of another crisis.





	1. Prologue

_The front desk is busy.  Friday night busy.  Loved ones calling.  It all feels blessedly normal._

_“I’m looking for Mariana.  Mariana Adams Foster.”_

_A chill races across my body as I glance up.  Process the information that I already know.  It’s him.  His scarf a flash of yellow at his neck._

_He’s looking my way but not seeing me.  Receptionists are invisible here.  People who dispense information families are desperate for.  They never remember the face of the person who gave it.  Not even if that person is me.  ‘Cause hiding in plain sight is what I’m best at._

_“Are you family?” I ask, even though I know he is._

_“Yeah.  She’s my twin.  I got a call.”_

_I give him the room number, and watch him rush away._

_I’m pretty damn great at compartmentalizing my life.  In fact, I try not to think back ten years at all.  But seeing Jesus brings it all back.  The box marked 2009-2010 that I keep closed is open now.  Memories are flying everywhere. Free.  The opposite of me then._

_The life clings to me again like a second skin._

_Afterward, on a break, I can’t stop myself from shaking._

_The box is open._

_What the hell do I do now?_


	2. Chapter 2

**ACT I: ON MY OWN**

**_Scene I:  Does Anybody Have a Map?_ **

“Dominique, babe.  Do you have to leave your bags in front of the door like that?  It hurts me,” her dad smiles, but she can see the pain in his eyes.

“I know you’re ready to get a full night’s sleep…” she chides.  “Those bags should make you so happy.  Sweet dreams are coming your way.”

“Well, they don’t.  Mama and I aren’t ready to lose our baby.”

“Dad.  I’m 21.  I haven’t been your baby in a very long time.”

“You will always be our baby,” Mom walks into the dining room, carrying chicken and then potatoes and then carrots.  She stops to kiss Dad on the cheek.

Her parents are two of the best people in the world.  So the fact that she can’t wait to get away from them feels wrong.  Like she must be a terrible person.  But she reminds herself that in spite of her dad’s words, her leaving will actually be helping them out.  Almost every night since March, she’s gotten the whole house up with her awful screaming nightmares.

Mom’s got her hair in beautiful braids that Dominique resents the hell out of because her hair is short now.  Won’t grow on one side of her head.  The wig Dominique’s got on now does the job just fine.  It’s blue to match the makeup on her skin.  Mom doesn’t need makeup.  Her smile lights up the whole room.  She’s a calm center while Dad carries all the anxiety for the whole family and regularly spins out about issues any of them are having, or work, basically anything.  He has Clark Kent glasses, dresses sharp, and Dominique knows she got her blerdness from him.  From Mom?  Well, Dominique’s not sure what she got from her…

She sits down.  Keeps her eyes open while Dad blesses the food.

Then:

“Dominique.  The costumes are great.  But don’t you think we could see  _you_  at dinner once in awhile?  Not Sadness?”

“What’s wrong with Sadness?  It’s valid, right?”

“It is,” Mom nods.  “We just miss seeing your face.”

Something hard unfurls in Dominique’s stomach.  Just like that, the feeling is there.  That she exists for her parents.  Not for herself.  She casts a glance at her suitcases all packed by the door.

“Excuse me,” she says and gets up.  She retires to her room, locking the door behind her.  She lets her diva cat, Roberta, in behind her.  

The door is flimsy so she can hear her parents’ hushed voices:

_“You want her to change, Jaim?  Seriously?  Now she’s gonna come back out here dressed as Katniss or something!”_

“As much as I’d love that…” Dominique comments under her breath, “I have to go to work.  So the only wardrobe change I’m making is into UCSD hospital receptionist.”

“ _Michael_ ,” Dominique’s mom returns from the dining room.  “ _You think our daughter’s fragile?  She’s not.  She’s strong_.”

“ _Okay, well maybe I like knowing how she feels.  She barely talks to us, hon’.  I like knowing she’s sad when she’s sad.  If you talk her out of it, she’s gonna stop and then she’s gonna leave us…_ ”

“I better get out there, before Dad starts to lose it,” Dominique tells Roberta, opening the door.  She pastes on a smile.  “Dad,” she says.  “I’m not gonna leave you ‘cause Mom doesn’t like my costumes.  I’m gonna leave because I’m 21, and it’s time.”

“You keep saying 21 like it means you’re grown,” Dad teases gently.  “It does not mean that.”

“I can drink.”

“You better not,” Mom warns.

“I can vote,” she tries, shrugging on a jacket.

“Thank goodness,” Mom likes that sentiment better.

“Listen.  I gotta go.  Don’t wait up for me, please.  And please don’t move these.  I want them to be there.  To be ready.  As soon as I get the call that there’s a vacancy in the apartment building.”  Dominique takes her keys and makes it out the door, dodging her dad’s attempt at a hug and kiss.  She doesn’t give Mom one either.  She can’t.

–

Her shift is a blur of phones and foot traffic.  Of frantic family members with questions.  In short, it’s right up Dominique’s alley.  She thrives on this.

Here, she’s in control.  She’s got answers.  And no one cares enough to look twice at her in her blue scrub top.  And even though she has a name tag clipped to her front, people don’t bother to read it.  They’re too busy to learn her name.  Too busy to comment on the scars that rise on her neck, her arms, her face.

She’s not a patient here.  She’s clear of the burn ward.  Away from its smells.  Its sounds.  Sometimes she’ll see a nurse from her time there, and they’ll start humming - especially if it’s Nurse Bev - who learned all the words to The Princess and the Frog’s  _Almost There_ , and sang it with her during bandage changes all those years ago.

But that was another lifetime.  Dominique scans the lobby, the hospital doors, for any sign of yellow.  But she’d only seen Jesus the one time.  And that was it.  Almost as if she’d imagined him altogether, except that he’d grown.  

He wasn’t the child who went missing out of San Diego in the fall of 2007.  The goofy kid from the videos his parents shared on the news.  He wasn’t the ghost of a boy he became, living in Dominique’s head when everything changed for her.  When she desperately needed a friend in order to cope with everything going on.

Jesus had just made sense then.  And they were inseparable.  He always understood her.  Always was there.  Suffering too.  Encouraging her that they could make it if they stuck together.  

But this Jesus now.  He didn’t know her from anybody.  Because unlike for him, there weren’t weeks and months of news reports.  Nobody did interviews with her parents, because the police were convinced that as a Black child, at barely eleven years old, she had run away.  It didn’t matter that she got straight A’s.  That she was a good girl in every sense of the word.  Dominique Williams was not a name anybody in San Diego knew.

While Jesus Adams Foster conjured instant recognition, questions, sympathy - Dominique’s own face invited stares.  Blunt questions, like “What did you do to yourself?”

She’d shortened it by now.  Two words: “Car accident,” seemed to do the trick.  It satiated their curiosity and let Dominique go on with her day, without dealing with strangers asking about her most private, most painful experiences.

“Hey, D!”  Lisa, a coworker’s voice, snaps her out of her memories.

Dominique bristles. D was not something she ever told anyone to call her, but it seemed to catch on around the hospital.  As “Dominique was too long.”

“Wanna come out with us?” Kim asks.  “Karaoke…” she tries.

While Dominique has tried to keep things about herself lowkey, the fact that she can’t go more than a few minutes without singing under her breath had let her coworkers know that singing is a passion of hers.  But had they bothered to get to know her, they’d know that she’s shy.  That Roberta, her cat, is her most trusted audience.  That she’d never sing in front of people.

“No, thanks,” she shrugs.

“I told you she wouldn’t come,” Lisa whispers to Kim.  Then, to Dominique: “You can’t go it alone all your life, you know?”

“Well, I’m all right so far,” Dominique reassures.  

Walking out to the parking lot, she scans for cars loitering.  Holds her keys defensively.  A horn honks briefly.  Two short beeps.

Dominique glances up.  Sees her mom climbing out of her own car, to walk Dominique to her own.

“Hey,” Dominique greets, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Hey,” Mom says back, knowing.  “Nobody moved your bags.”  (“I love you.”)

“Thanks,” (“Love you, too.”)

They drive home, and Mom follows her into the driveway.  It’s not creepy.  It makes her feel as close as she can come to safe.

And why would she ever wanna give that up?  Parents who love her that much?

Why does she constantly feel like she is drowning here?

Walking into the house, Dad’s waiting at the top of the stairs for her.

“I said don’t wait up,” Dominique objects, irritated.

“I’m your dad.  I get to stay up and worry about my girl.”

She pauses, looks them both in the eyes and it’s there - truth - burning the back of her throat:

_Why don’t we ever talk about this?  How am I ever supposed to feel okay if I don’t know that you’re okay with how this changed me?_

But just like her parents, Dominique can never say those words aloud.  So instead, she chooses the easier ones.  Ones that will sit well with them and allow them to think she is okay and not flooded with memories of a time in her childhood she’d much rather forget:

“Night.  See you in the morning,” she says, and closes her bedroom door behind her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**_Scene II:  My Imagination_ **

_Jesus comes to her while they’re waiting once.  In a hotel room that stinks like smoke with thin walls and stained wallpaper.  The TV shows a report all about him.  He was someone Dominique knew about before this.  His parents were always talking about him and how much they loved him and missed him._

_There are no shows about her._

_“It doesn’t mean they don’t love you,” Jesus says inside Dominique’s own mind.  “It just means there must be another reason.”_

_“What other reason?” Dominique asks back, but not out loud._

_Jesus shrugs._

_“Are they hurting you, too?  Are you in the life?” Dominique asks.  She doesn’t have to be Amber right now.  There are no johns.  Just a room full of girls being bored while they wait for it to be time to work again._

_Jesus looks right into her whole self, but doesn’t say anything._

_Dominique didn’t know that could happen to boys too, but it makes her feel sorta better to not be alone.  To think maybe a kid her same age knows what it’s like to be hurt like they are.  She is the youngest here, but her and Jesus are almost the same age._

_“You wanna be friends?” she asks carefully._

_“Sure,” he says._

_“Okay.  What’s your favorite color?”_

_Dominique waits a long time but Jesus doesn’t say.  “I really wanna see Princess and the Frog.  What’s your favorite movie?”_

_“The Pacifier,” he answers, “The one with Vin Diesel.”  (Dominique knew that because all the news reports talked about how it was his turn to pick the family movie the night he went missing, and how he told his sister and brother that he picked that.)_

_“What’s it about?”_

_“Vin Diesel’s a babysitter who protects kids from danger,” he shares seriously._

_“Oh.”_

_“What’s The Princess and the Frog about?” he asks._

_She shrugs.  “It’s coming out soon.  And when I get out of here I’m gonna get to see it.  What are you gonna do when you get out?”_

_Jesus just shrugs again._

_He does that a lot.  But Dominique doesn’t mind._

_“Amber!  Get over here!”  She gets smacked in the face hard.  Her lip splits, bleeding into the red lipstick._

_She should know better than to daydream too much.  She needs to listen otherwise she’ll get in such big trouble.  Like hurt or killed.  Dominique knows they’re serious, too, ‘cause they did it before to other girls who didn’t listen._

_Dominique does not wanna be one of those girls._

_So she’ll be good.  She’ll do everything the johns want.  Do it right.  Sometimes they say they feel bad for her, say they’ll help her. But they still have a look in their eyes like they don’t care she’s just a kid._

_When they ask about her age, she lies:  “I’m 14.”_

_They feel better when she says that, but she doesn’t know why.  It’s not her job to know why.  It’s her job to listen.  To do whatever they say._

_It still hurts.  She watches the clock.  Those red digital numbers click, marking the time.  Song lyrics are there inside her head, and they like to hear her sing:_

_“I hear the ticking of the clock.  I’m lying here, the room’s pitch dark.”_

_“How does a girl like you know a song like that?  It’s gotta be before your time,” the john laughs._

_American Idol.  They cover a lot of super old songs.  But she says, “I know a lot of things.”_

_–_

_In a way, Dominique thinks that Jesus is gonna be gone forever since she got smacked for imagining him the first time, but she dreams about him._

_It’s a regular dream where he’s playing outside.  It makes her ache - even her dream self - because sometimes, she has to work early in the morning and she sees kids going to school.  Fifth graders sometimes, like she would be._

_Before this, she was so ready to be a fifth grader: she was gonna rule the school, no other kids could boss her around.  She was gonna be on cheer team.  She was gonna get straight A’s again.  And maybe as a reward, Mom and Dad would let her get a pet.  Her dream was a horse but anything would be okay.  In fifth grade Science, they got to have mice as class pets._

_Now she doesn’t get to make up cheers at recess.  She doesn’t get to see the mice in Science or get all the words right on spelling tests.  The only stuff she can read is in nasty magazines.  Headlines on TV._

_TV like Jesus was on._

_“Hey!” she calls out to him, but he just keeps running around kicking a soccer ball.  “I thought you said we were friends!”_

_“We are,” he glances up, breathless.  Kicks the ball toward her._

_She winds up, and tries to kick it, but her leg goes right through it, like she’s a ghost._

_Dominique glances up, scared._

_“It happens sometimes,” Jesus reassures.  “Because we’re invisible.”_

_“I’m not though!” Dominique argues.  “I’m right here!_ You’re _invisible!”_

_“Nobody found you yet, did they?” Jesus asks, not mean, just like it’s true and everybody knows it._

_“No,” Dominique answers.  Soft._

_“Told you.  Invisible,” he says, like he’s sad.  “It’s not our fault.  It’s just what happens when…”_

_“When what?” she asks, even though the question makes her want to throw up._

_“When they take us.”_

_“Well how do we get visible again?” Dominique wonders, her voice choked up.  “‘Cause I do not wanna be a ghost.  I don’t even_ like _ghosts.”_

_Jesus shrugs._

_“Don’t do that!  Is that the only thing you know how to do?”_

_“Basically,” Jesus nods._

_“You’ve been a ghost longer than me.  So tell me everything you know,” she demands._

_“I don’t know that much.  We’re invisible to everybody but each other.  Ghosts can see each other but humans can’t, right?”_

_“I’m still a human,” Dominique bristles._

_“But the way they treat us?  It’s kinda like we’re not.  Like we’re zombies, or ghosts, or_ they _are.”_

_“They are,” Dominique agrees._

_“But I see you.  That’s good, right?”_

_“Yeah.  I see you, too.” she nods._

_Dominique wakes up with tears on her face, and just like she thought, Jesus was gone. Disappeared.   Just like the ghost he said they were._


	4. Chapter 4

**_Scene III: Something’s Coming_ **

Sitting up at night is all Dominique does now.  She brings all of her cosplay stuff out to the table and gets to work.  Hermione shouldn’t be that big a challenge, but she has to decide if she wants to wear the robe, and she has to figure out what she should make her wand out of…

She needs something that will keep her mind busy.  Something that will stop her from falling headlong into a nightmare worse than what actually happened.  She needs her parents to actually get a good night’s sleep for once.  That can’t happen if she’s not making sure she stays awake so she won’t accidentally wake up screaming.

See, Dominique doesn’t need karaoke to feel fulfilled.  She doesn’t need to be around coworkers who can’t be bothered to learn her name.  She’s fine here.  Fine like this.

“Dominique?”

She jumps a foot when Mom comes into the kitchen.  Roberta gets comfortable on Dominique’s fabric scrap pile.

“What?”

“What?  That’s all you have to say right now?  It’s 3 AM, baby.  You need to get some rest.”

“I will.  Promise.  I just gotta figure this costume out first.”

Mom’s hands come to rest on Dominique’s, stilling them.  

Dominique jerks away.  

“Baby, the costume will be there tomorrow.”

“Maybe it’s not about the costume, Mom…”

But now, Mom’s coming around to sit in the chair across from her.  Great.

“What is it about?”

“Letting you and Dad get sleep…”

“Honey.  You matter more to us than sleep does.”

“Well, it’s been four months of this.  How much longer before you just lose patience?” Dominique asks.  It’s easier when she’s scrolling through Hermione costume ideas on her phone.  Easier when she doesn’t have to see her mom’s face.

“Babe.  Look at me, please.”

Dominique sighs and meets mom’s gaze.

“We will not lose patience with you.  You are our daughter.  And you need sleep too.  Do you need something to help you?”

“Would it help  _you_?  Really, Mom, what’s the difference if I stay up, if all you wanna do is shut me up with pills?”

“I’m suggesting pills because they help  _you_  sleep.”

“With the benefit of no screaming to wake up you and Dad…” she manages.  Dominique can feel her pulse racing at her throat.  She’s gotta reign in this attitude or…

“Okay,” Mom nods like she’s noticed how tense Dominique is.  “I’m sorry.  If you do need something?  You can let us know.”

“Don’t touch me,” she whispers.

“Right,” Mom nods.

“Don’t drug me.”

“Dominique,” Mom says, and she can’t read the tone.  Can’t tell the mood Mom might be in now.  “Okay.  I won’t touch you.  And no sleeping pill unless you decide you want it.  You and Roberta make costumes.  Is there anything you need for this one?”

“A wand?” Dominique manages.  She’s started shaking.

“Yeah?  For the Harry Potter girl, right?  Hermie-One?” Mom asks, totally mispronouncing the name the way she does - no matter how many times Dominique tells her otherwise.

“Her _mione_ ,” Dominique corrects with a small smile.

“Right.”

“Do you have a picture?  What kind of wand might she like?”

But Dominique’s just focusing on trying to keep breathing right now.  Mom’s niceness is making her skin crawl.  She’s already triggered from Mom stilling her hands and asking about sleeping pills.  So she can’t really trust her sitting right here.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Dominique decides, scraping her chair back.  Roberta jumps off the table and follows her, as obedient as a dog.

She closes the door.  Locks it behind her.  Slides down it.  Roberta climbs into her lap, purring.  Dominique knows Roberta loves to be sung to, especially show tunes, but Dominique doesn’t have energy for that right now.  Instead she whispers lyrics to a Pink’s  _Better Life_ , willing herself to get through this episode faster:

“ _I’ve been up late watching you breathe, wondering if you’re gonna leave.  Don’t tell me what you see.  Fuck, I’m blue_ …”

Roberta perks up for a second, but then her yellow eyes narrow, judging the song choice hard.

“Yeah, I know.  You’ll put up with this if you have to, right?” Dominique asks.

Roberta regards her.  Then gets off her lap and walks away.

Her room is sparse.  Bare.  Most everything is packed in anticipation of moving.  She knows the waiting list is long for Gateway Apartments.  Because there aren’t a lot of places that can accommodate people with the mental health laundry list Dominique’s got going.  The fact is, her room?  Usually looks like a tornado blew through it.  She leaves impressive messes in her wake, like the Hermione costume debacle.

The fact that it’s clean now is just because there’s no stuff to leave all over it.  She knows once she moves, it will be a different story.  Her own space.  She has no illusions that she’ll magically be able to keep her depression in check long enough to keep house consistently, but at least she won’t have people barging in all the time.   To have, potentially, four or five rooms all to herself is like a dream.

Still, it might be nice to have a friend.  Somebody real.  But not like Kim and Lisa real.  Dominique needs people that get her.  At least one.  There’s only so much counseling could do.  Only so much the Child Life Specialist in the hospital could offer.

She needs somebody who gets that Dominique doesn’t trust people.  Oh, she can fake it.  She can be personable for a shift at work.  But there’s a desk between her and everybody else.  She likes a good barrier.

And friends?  Don’t really take well to barriers.  They take them personally.  Like it’s an insult to have boundaries.  She’s tried to make friends over the years post-trauma but is there really such a thing as post-trauma, first of all? And secondly, most twelve-year-olds were concerned with social media.  With boyfriends.  With doing “it.”  When Dominique told them sex wasn’t that big a deal, a girl named Amanda said, “ _No offense, but no hot guy would ever want you_.”

“ _Who says I wanted it?_ ”

“ _Girls always want it,_ ” a boy named Paul said.

Dominique hadn’t thought, just swiped all Paul’s books off his desk and onto the floor.

Dominique remembered how their teacher had come in then.  How he’d adjusted his necktie the way all the johns had.  How he called her to his desk, and she moved like she was underwater.  She accepted the pink slip to the principal’s office.  ( _Another necktie another man who even cared who counted she didn’t_.)  She sat through the meeting held with her parents there.  

How Paul and Amanda faced zero consequences but Dominique dealt with meetings about her “behavior” and being on a Daily Report for kids with emotional issues.  It made her feel like she was constantly being spied on.

It’s how she learned to keep a lid on the life and everything about it.  To not talk about it to the kids in school.  To just not talk to anybody.  Do her work.  She liked school for the structure it gave, but she wasn’t there to make friends.

Not that anybody wanted to be friends with the girl who might throw stuff “unprovoked.”

The next thing Dominique knows, it’s dawn.  She’s done it.  Somehow managed to stay up all night.  She can hear Dad in the kitchen, making breakfast.

She reaches up and unlocks the door.

“Dominique, baby, come clear off the table, please,” he calls.

She sighs.  If he comments that she’s still in her scrub top from last night, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. The sleep deprivation is real, and she’s not as good at coping with it now that she’s on the other side of the life.

Walking out to the kitchen, the smell of eggs and bacon cooking make her nauseous.  Mom’s on the living room couch with her tablet and a cup of coffee, probably because Dominique’s crap is taking over the dining room table, and her parents know how she gets if they move her stuff.

She goes out to clean it off and stops short.  A wand is lying on top of the mess, as if it was put there by magic spell.  She hesitates just long enough to take in the wand - not just any wand - but definitely meant to be  _Hermione’s_  wand - and does her best to make quick work of putting all the fabric scraps, wigs and other odds and ends away.

Walking by Mom on the couch, she points with the new wand and with perfect Hermione Granger diction, accent and all, says: “ _I’m hoping to do some good in the world_.”  She nods her thanks.

“I have no doubt,” Mom says.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**_Scene IV: Spark of Creation_ **

July drags on, and Dominique’s stamina for staying up all night and sparing her parents’ their sleep has faded quickly.  They’re back to talking about going back to the doctor. Maybe getting Dominique put on something so she can sleep through the night.

But Dominique’s not on board with that.  So she and her parents are locked in a standoff.  She hates it when they fight, because normally they get along pretty well as a family, but add sleep deprivation to the mix and all bets are off.  

The more they push her toward taking something, the more Dominique digs her heels in.  She knows her dad thinks she’s being obstinate, but it’s more than that.

She begins to count down the hours til she goes into work. Begins to wonder if that waiting list she’s been on for Gateway somehow lost her name.

Since her parents are against her cosplaying and making costumes at 3 AM while she lives here, Dominique has done her best to fill the late/early hours with something that keeps her in her room and quiet, so her parents can assume she’s sleeping, not grabbing a dozen little naps during the day.

She’s started creeping on Jesus Adams Foster’s Twitter.  Search his name and it’s the first result.  He tweets from @ItsHeyZeus.  His bio simply reads:  _for the missing_.  She’s known about it for a long time but never really checked it out.  Now, she’s read every single tweet.

_@ItsHeyZeus You are stronger than you seem._

_@ItsHeyZeus Don’t give up._

_@ItsHeyZeus Won’t stop looking for you._

That last one makes a hole open up inside Dominique’s chest.  Nobody had looked for her.  Nobody but her parents.  And two people covering so much ground?  Well, they couldn’t make much progress.  Jesus and his tweets come from a place of privilege.  Having a white mom on the police force who pushed them to use their position to look for her missing child?  And keep his face all over the news?  That’s not everybody’s story.

Not for the first time, Dominique thinks about reaching out to him.  But what would she even say?

_@IMadeItToo Your story is not everybody’s story.  Check your privilege._

_@IMadeItToo Saw you @ UCSD in March._

_@IMadeItToo You used to be my invisible friend._

_@IMadeItToo because of you._

All of those sound confrontational.  Too desperate.  Too creepy.  She can’t bring herself to send any of them.  And she can’t stop wondering what he was doing at UCSD?  What his sister was doing there?  

Mariana (any of his family, in fact) is conspicuously absent from his Twitter account.  He does not mention them.  He barely mentions himself.  His profile pic is him standing in the orange glow of the sun, so that his face is mostly in shadows.  So that he could be anyone.

Dominique doesn’t even have a profile pic.  Just a generic egg on a teal background.  Nothing that would make her even seem legit.

–

Dawn breaks again.

She counts down the hours until it’s time to go in for her shift and parks, walking into the hospital.  It doesn’t take her long to catch onto Lisa’s gossip.  Her daughter’s a therapist at a rehab place nearby.

“You know, Julie said a while back that she saw that Jesus there?  His sister was a patient.  She was admitted here first apparently.  Wish I’d seen him for myself.”

“Why?” Dominique cringes before she can stop the word from flying out of her mouth.

“Just for proof.  To know he was really here.”

“So he wasn’t really here unless you saw him here?” Dominique asks, incredulous.

“Well, I’m not just going to take anybody’s word for it,” Lisa spits out  _anybody_  in a way that lets Dominique know that she herself would qualify in that category.

Even though Dominique has stopped answering her, Lisa doesn’t seem to notice and keeps right on talking.  “It wasn’t Callie and it wasn’t the colored sister.  It was the Mexican one.”

Dominique chokes.  Makes quick work of clocking in, so she can get the hell away from Lisa and her white nonsense.

She’s not about to let Lisa know anymore than she does already.  

Dominique gets to work, scanning the lobby for Jesus even though she knows by now that he’s at a hospital across town with Mariana.

On a break (and out of sheer spite at Lisa) Dominique @ replies Jesus on Twitter:

_@IMadeItToo: You helped me survive._

–

Back home again, Dad’s flipping out ‘cause she’s Netflixing.

“You can’t just watch cartoons in your room all day, babe.”

Dominique raises her eyebrows.  Turns back to  _Neo Yokio_.  Kaz is way better than Dad.  He gets her.  He’s the closest person who gets her.  So, he’s a cartoon with purple eyes and pink hair.

“Doesn’t matter what I do, does it?  You and Mom are gonna find a problem with it.  I work, you have a problem with that.”

“You’re living here rent free.”

“You want money?  Why didn’t you just say so?”

She’s shifted however imperceptibly from her authentic self to her working self.  Her working self has everything together all the time.  Is always fine.  She goes to her purse and brings it to him.

He blinks.  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Take it.  It’s my bad, right?  My money’s not mine while I’m living under your roof, right?  I get it.  It’s okay.”  She’s flipped her laptop closed.

Waits.

It takes her dad three seconds that feel like eternities to realize he is standing in her bedroom doorway, completely blocking her only exit.  Even then, he doesn’t seem to know what to do.

“Dominique.  It’s not like that, alright?  I just meant I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” she assures in the totally confident, totally calm way she has.  He’s still blocking the door, still holding her purse.

Eventually, he sets it on Dominique’s dresser and walks out.  

She follows, checkbook in hand.  She’s prepared to write him a check for half of what she makes.  She needs some money for when she moves out on her own.  But her dad’s right.  Nothing’s free.

“Dominique.  Stop.”

“No, it’s okay,” Roberta regards Dominique from the window sill in the living room and then gets the hell out of there.  She knows when things aren’t okay.  “How much?”

He can tell now.  Mentioning money to her was a mistake.  Money made things blurry.  The line between this life and the life. “Jaimie,” he calls, walking past Dominique to the kitchen doorway.

Her whole being flinches.

She did it this time.  He’s pissed.  And she’s digging in her purse for cash.  

They’re standing off to the side now, whispering in their not-subtle way:

_“What the hell happened, Michael?”_

_“I don’t know!  She’s not okay, though, obviously.  She thinks I want money from her!”_

Dominique’s unearthed about $70 in crumpled bills and puts them on the coffee table.  “Here.  I can get more, obviously, you know?”

“Babe.  Dominique.  It’s Mom.  You’re okay.  You don’t owe us anything.”

“Yeah, I do.  He said.  And he’s mad.”  She’s shaking.  Adding change to the pile.

“He’s not mad.  We care about you.  Very much.  We don’t want you to be afraid, sweetie.”

Mom brings her a bottle of water, and turns on the show tunes channel on TV.  Then she leaves to give Dominique some space.  

But all that gives her is time to stare at her pathetic pile of bills.  Her handful of change.  Tears come to her eyes and she chokes them back.

Through blurry eyes she writes a check for half of what she makes.  Leaves it on the table, made out in her father’s name.

–

Back in her room, Dominique checks her phone.  Her @ replies on Twitter.  But they’re empty.

No word from Jesus.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Scene V: …Then Not Debate With Me**

Dad doesn’t accept the check.  She finds it the next morning, still on the table beside  $74.38 ($71 crumpled bills in differing denominations; $3.38 in small change).

She’s defeated.  Deflated.  Embarrassed.  Draws a shaky breath.  Approaches him as he sits on the couch watching the morning news with a cup of coffee and cereal.

“This is yours,” she comments softly.  When he glances up at the check in her shaking hand, Dominique knows what he’s taking in.  Her.  No makeup.  No wig.  Just a soft maroon shirt with long sleeves, and baggy grey sweats.  For once, no costume.  It feels hideously vulnerable.  And she hates that she can’t stop herself from offering him the check, and the cash besides.

“No, it’s not, Dom.  That’s yours.  I’m not accepting it.”  He’s calm, but she’s still rattled from last night.

“You can have the money, too.  It’s still on the table.  I didn’t move it.”

“No,” he says softly.  “It’s your money.”

“You mad?” she asks, breathing shallowly.

“No.  I am not mad.  Except at myself, for scaring you.  I know money talk’s a thing for you.  And I should have been more aware of what I was saying.  Should have said what I really meant and not what I didn’t.”

“What didn’t you mean?  You mad?”  She sways a little on her feet.

“No,” he says, like he’s got all the time in the world for her.  He waits til she’s a little calmer and keeps going.  “I should have just told you I was worried about you, instead of scaring you.”

“You mean  _that_?” Dominique checks, still breathless.  “To scare me?  ‘Cause I didn’t do what you wanted…”

“No.  I did not mean to scare you.  You matter to me.  And I’m happy when you speak your mind.”

“You weren’t last night,” Dominique points out.  She’s backed up to the doorway, in case she needs a quick escape.

“No, you’re right.  That’s because you were talking to my anxiety, not to me.”

Dominique raises her eyebrows.  “Maybe like you were talking to my trauma…”

“I think so,” he comments softly.  “I think your trauma wants me to have that money.  But Dominique, my daughter?   _She_  knows that the money you earn at the hospital is yours.  And you’re saving for when you live on your own, right?”

“It’s stupid not to give it to you,” she manages. (If she ever debated with Daddy about what was rightfully his, she’d be killed for sure.  It’s how she feels now.  Like she’ll die.  Soon.)

“It’s smart to save your money, Dominique.  I’m not accepting the check or the money because I know it belongs to you, and you can do with it what you want.”  Dad pauses.  “You’re okay.  I’m not gonna hurt you.  I’d never hurt you.”

“If I ripped this up…?” she ventures, showing the check.

“I’d be a happy camper,” he says, smiling.  There are tears in his eyes.

“Is it a trick?”

“No trick.  We’re honest with each other,” he says.

With shaking hands, she rips the check in half and takes it with her to throw away.  She has to stop in the bathroom to vomit.  Her own nerves are so bad right now.

She takes the rest of the day real easy.  It hasn’t escaped Dad that the pile of crumpled bills and change is still on the kitchen table, but he’s not pushing.  Seems like he gets that dealing with the check is the most she can do right now.

She zones out again, pulling up Twitter on her laptop.  Jesus still hasn’t responded to her tweet.  It makes her feel empty inside.  Weak.  Like she put too much stock in the imaginary version of Jesus, and not enough thought into the reality that he’s a real person with real obligations.

It’s totally possible he’s busy.  If his sister really is recovering somehow, it would make sense that he didn’t have a lot of time to be on social media.  But he’s posted since March.  He posted yesterday, actually.

( _@ItsHeyZeus Coming home is tough.  Adjusting takes time.  It’s OK_.)

It’s also totally possible that Jesus did see the tweet and just didn’t respond ‘cause he probably got a million messages like hers and they don’t mean anything to him anymore.  Maybe he only wants to hear from kids who are actively missing - not 21-year-olds still having trauma-moments when their dad mentions rent.

Roberta climbs on Dominique and snuggles her.  Dominique draws a shaky breath, and sings, “ _We’re not gonna pay, we’re not gonna pay, we’re not gonna pay…last year’s rent.  This year’s rent.  Next year’s rent…Rent, rent, rent, rent, rent.  We’re not gonna pay rent.  ‘Cause everything is rent…_ ”

It is shaky.  It is soft.  But it’s the best she can do right now at telling herself the truth.  At really driving it home for herself.  

From her lap, Roberta purrs happily, and her eyes fall closed.  She’s in heaven.

Well, that makes one of them.

–

July heat gives way to August dread.  

Dominique has a handful of trigger-months and August is easily the worst.  Things that were bad before: her nightmares, her irritability, her hypervigilance, ramp up even more in August.  

Mom and Dad are having second, third and fourth thoughts about her ability to make it on her own.  But it just makes Dominique’s desire to get the hell out that much stronger.  She and Roberta can make it on their own.  They don’t need Mom and Dad.

Something else that Dominique has given up all hope of?  Ever hearing from Jesus.  She’ll have to be content with the fact that he’s pretty much always gonna be a figment of her imagination.  She said her piece, and she’s gotta be okay with it.  She’s gotta stop checking his damn Twitter.

She turns off the Twitter alerts that inform her every time he makes a post.

It’s easier this way.  At least that’s what she tells herself.

Three weeks into August, she finally caves and goes to the doctor at the urging of her parents, and the doctor suggests freaking therapy.  Like a therapist is gonna be able to do a damn thing for her.

She’s in her car, about to turn the car on when her phone rings.

“Hello?” she asks, recognizing the number for Supportive Housing.  Her heartbeat speeds up.

“Can I please speak to Dominique Williams?” a voice on the other end asks.

“Yes.  This is she,” Dominique says, her voice exceptionally calm.

“Hi, Dominique.  This is Margot at Supportive Housing.  I’m calling to let you know we have a vacancy in one of our units in Gateway Apartments in San Diego.  I’m going to need some paperwork from you, but once I have that, and it all checks out, you’ll be able to move in anytime.”

Dominique jots down notes for what Margot needs, paperwork wise.  “I can get these to you today.  Is the weekend too soon to start moving in?”

“Let me okay the paperwork first, and we’ll go from there.  Assuming it clears, this weekend would be fine to move forward with moving in.”

–

She stops by home to pick up what she needs, finally taking the money off the table that’s been there the better part of a month and puts it back in her purse.  She makes copies, and then drives it to the office herself, because she wants word that she’s cleared to move in in person.  Margot is impressed, but Dominique holds her breath until she gets word that everything looks good.

It’s still early enough in the day that Dominique gets the okay to go check out the apartment.  She calls Mom from the car, to see if they can meet at Gateway.

Mom is shocked it’s all happening so fast, but agrees to meet her there.  The minute they are inside, and up on the third floor where it’s quiet, she walks to the end of the hall.  To 308. She follows Margot in.

Dominique’s mouth drops open.  

“So much space,” Mom gasps.

“Did I forget to mention?  Our vacancy is a two-bedroom,” Margot smiles.

“So Dad and I can stay over sometimes…” Mom whispers, giddy.

“No,” Dominique insists.  “I don’t have to have a roommate, do I?” she asks Margot.

“Not at all,” Margot reassures.

“And you allow pets?” Dominique double checks.  She wouldn’t have been on the waiting list if the building didn’t allow pets, but Dominique’s nothing if not thorough.

“For an additional fee,” Margot points out.

Dominique bites her lip.  Roberta’s worth it, so she’s gonna have to make sure she has money to cover this cat fee.

She takes a deep breath.

This is it.

Dominique turns to Mom.  “Let’s go get my stuff.”

“We can’t tonight, sweetie.  Dad works late. And tomorrow, you and I work.  We can do Sunday at the earliest.”

“Sure, I’ve waited eight months…what’s two more days…” Dominique sighs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Scene VI: Movin’ Out**

_Dominique’s been home just over a year when the news is saying that Jesus Adams Foster’s been found.  It’s the middle of October, and Dominique just turned 13.  It’s been two months.  And all through those two months, Jesus had been there inside her mind.  Helping her._

_Now Jesus is free, too.  But the news gets it wrong.  She sees him for a second when he doesn’t have a blanket over his head.  His hair is as long as a girl’s.  The news says a local man kidnapped him when he could literally see his house._

_But he was like her, right?  Hadn’t he said?_

_Not just one man but a bunch of johns.  A Daddy - no, a Pimp -  who hurt you._

_But no.  Actually, Jesus hadn’t said anything.  And actually, nobody was there with news cameras when she got back.  Nobody cared about her.  Nobody even looked or knew she was gone._

_She saw tons of johns in the life, and she knew they went home to their wives or their families every night.  But they never talked about her, she’s positive._

_It feels like it breaks her brain, learning the truth about Jesus, and that they are not as the same as she hoped.  She watches the news all the time for more about him.  Oprah even wants to do an interview with him but his parents say no._

_Dominique is so jealous._

_She and Jesus aren’t friends after that.  He doesn’t come see her in her mind ever again._

_She’s fine with it, too.  ‘Cause she doesn’t need anybody who lies._

_Jesus is just like all the others._

_(It’s easier to think that than to face the truth.  That Jesus had grown up trapped.  That they weren’t so alike as she used to think.)_

–

Dominique wakes up to Roberta sitting on her face at 6:35 AM on Sunday morning, after dreaming about the day she heard Jesus was found.  

It’s a familiar feeling.  As much as she convinces herself she is over him, her subconscious can’t seem to let go of him, or her memories of him.  Not hearing from him is evoking the same feelings of betrayal she had experienced at 13.  

Roberta yowls.

Dominique gives her a shove.  “Do you mind?”

Roberta stands up and bounds off the bed, her tail swaying gracefully through the air.  

“So proud of yourself, right?” Dominique quips.  “It’s moving day, you know?  I might just forget to bring you…”

But the cat’s not listening.  Now, she’s complaining loudly at Dominique’s closed bedroom door.

“ _Robbie_ , shut it, would you?” Dominique whispers.

Roberta turns resentful eyes on Dominique.

“Well, you act like a kitten, you get treated like one…”  She cracks the door and Roberta runs out into the hall.

Dominique closes it again, and surveys the costume she pulled for today.  She made a deal with her parents that she wouldn’t dress up in public as Katniss ever, because of the bows and arrows.  Mom’s even hesitant about the Hermione wand.  So, Dominique goes with the pink wig, white shirt, navy blue suit and purple contacts.

Today she’s Kaz Kaan.  She goes to the closet to unearth her giant Toblerone.  Obviously not a weapon, so her parents can’t take issue with it.

She heaves it into her arms and then thinks better of it.  “ _You don’t deserve this giant Toblerone_ ,” she tells herself, as Kaz - a good excuse to just pack it in the car and not lug it around all day.

“Hey!  You’re pink-haired cartoon guy!” Dad approves with a smile.  “…with a giant chocolate bar…you can’t lug that around all day…”

“I’m rich, I can do what I like,” she says.  Kaz again.

“Okay.  Well, we’re eating in a hurry today, so would you like a quick egg?  Or you gonna work on that?” he jokes, gesturing to the chocolate bar that’s near as tall as she is.

“Funny,” she says, dryly.

But she accepts the breakfast from dad, and lets Mom carry the giant Toblerone to Dominique’s car.  Soon enough, they’re loading three vehicles with as much stuff as they can, and driving the fifteen minutes to Gateway Apartments.

She’s grateful for the elevator, because she’s up and down it half a dozen times. Finally, she gives up and hangs out in the apartment with Roberta while Mom and Dad haul stuff in.  It’s just as well.  All the people here are giving her weird looks.

It’s making her uneasy.  There are mostly women here, but she hadn’t counted on as many men as she’s seen so far.  Some are young, but some aren’t.  Some just ring her creep bell hard.  Probably better to stay in here.

Safer.

“Hey, keep Roberta inside, would you, sweetie?  There are dogs here,” Mom warns.

“She’s an indoor cat.”

“Yes, babe, but we’re in and out of here, and the door’s open and closed a lot.  We don’t want her to run out.”

Dominique sighs.  Takes a break from washing all the dishes by hand (easily as domestic as she will ever be - certainly more domestic than Kaz has been ever) and finds Roberta’s leash.  Secures it to the refrigerator so she can explore the kitchen but stay near her and not escape.

It takes most of a day to get everything moved in.  If her parents are as exhausted as she is, they don’t show it.  It’s pushing 7 PM when they’re finally done.  

“You don’t have a table and chairs,” Mom observes.

“I’ll eat on the couch,” Dominique assures them.

“We’ll get you a card table and some folding chairs until we can find you something nicer.”

Her mind flashes to dark hotel rooms, with tiny tables and two chairs.  Surfaces covered with God-knew-what.

“No,” she manages, her voice hoarse.  “No table.  Please.”

Mom raises her eyebrows.  “Okay.  No table.  Maybe we can find you a utility bench or something, though?  What do you think?  You might want someplace to spread your costume stuff out, right?”

Dominique nods.  She feels cold.  Speechless.

But she can shake it off, still dressed like Kaz.  

“Thank you guys for all your help,” she says and means it.  She wraps her arms around Mom, tight.  Can tell Mom’s not expecting it.

She approaches Dad from the side, and puts an arm around his neck.  Without the armor of her Kaz costume, hugging Dad would be impossible.  But in the suit, she feels powerful.  In the wig and contacts, she feels disguised.  Just enough to feel okay with an arm around Dad like this.

“Thank you…for not taking the money…” she confesses.

“Thank you for taking it back.”  He squeezes.  “You let us know if you need something?  I’ll have Amazon deliver you a utility table by Tuesday for your costume room.”  He gestures to the one without the loft bed.  Without her laptop.  “That sound okay?”

“You do know Amazon doesn’t actually deliver the packages, right?” Dominique asks, cracking a smile.

“Yes, I know that.”

“Your dad loves him some Amazon Prime with its two-day shipping….” Mom grins.

“Okay, you guys.  You gotta go.  I love you.  But you gotta go.”

“But there’s nothing in your costume room but a big, cozy chair.  Perfect for me to sleep on,” Mom objects.

“And I’d be fine on the couch,” Dad offers.

“And I’d be fine if you  _weren’t_  in my costume room  _or_ on the couch,” Dominique tells them, laughing.

When they leave, she cranks up the volume on her RENT playlist as loud as she dares, and makes a pizza for herself in the microwave.  She sings, and Roberta, who’s been out of sorts since they arrived finally relaxes, purring and trying to get bites of barbecue chicken pizza.

That night, she climbs up into her bed, feeling more secure up here than she ever did at home.  She keeps her shoes on - habit - and falls asleep in seconds.  Dreams, for the first time in who-knows-how-long, of nothing at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**ACT II: THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN**

**_Scene I: Bound to Answer_ **

Her first night in the new place goes about how she expects.  Dominique wakes up every hour, disoriented about where she is.  Lucky for her, Roberta is nearby, to anchor her in the present.  If they’re together, then she’s okay.

Monday morning, there’s no time to do any of the million things Dominique needs to do.  Instead, she has to be up, moving and out the door by 7:30 to get to UCSD by 8 AM for her shift.  She feels bad leaving Roberta locked in the apartment, but leaves the TV on Stage and Screen so Roberta can feel comforted in the new place while Dominique is gone.  

“Bye, Roberta,” she says, keys in hand to lock the door behind herself.  She rushes to the elevator and gets on.  The door’s closing when she hears a guy’s voice:

“Hold the door?” he calls.

Dominique smacks a hand on the door to stop its progress before she can think twice about what she’s doing.  (Seriously.  A man she doesn’t know is about to get on an elevator with her.)  

A brown and white dog gets on first.  He has a patch of white fur on his head surrounded by brown that’s shaped just like a heart.  

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Dominique croons.

“That’s Dudley,” the guy says.  

Dominique glances up and her whole world stops.

Jesus Adams freakin-Foster is in the elevator with her right now.  He’s tall.  Gotta be at least six feet.  He’s dressed in cargo shorts and a tee shirt that reads  _Good Vibes_.  

“You going to one?” he asks, and pushes the button at her nod.  (She hasn’t realized with time stopping and all that the elevator wasn’t moving to take them anywhere.)

“You just moved in, right?” he asks, conversationally.  “The two-bedroom?”

“Yeah…” she manages, wary.

“Well, you can just knock on the door if you need something.  I’m in 306.”

“Dominique,” she allows, arms crossed.  (Maybe if she offers her own name, he’ll give his.)

“Nice to meet you, Dominique,” he says, offering her a smile as the elevator lands.  “Come on, Dudley.”

Dudley obediently follows Jesus off the elevator, and Dominique hurries out to her car, shaking as she turns her car on.

Jesus hadn’t mentioned his name, but knew where she lived.  While there could be a good reason for withholding information about himself and knowing it about her, Dominique can’t think of one.

And she can’t focus at all at work.

–

That afternoon, she’s off at 2:30 and taking the stairs to the third floor to avoid Jesus and Dudley.  She has a meeting in an hour with her support staff.

Dominique finds herself just barely ready when she hears a knock at the door at 4 PM.

“Are you Dominique?”

“That’s me,” she nods.

“Hey.  I’m Lena.  I’ll be your support person while you’re here.”

Lena’s maybe four years older than Dominique.  She’s at ease.  Casual.  Shares pictures of her own cat, Freddie, and they bond for a bit over being cat moms.  Dominique tries not to stare at her hair - in perfect braids - like her mom’s, but even longer.  She’s got a ready smile, like she just naturally wakes up happy every day of her life.  Her brown eyes sparkle with humor.

“So, I’m here to help you.  I wanna know what you need help with.”

Dominique draws a  breath. “Well…I’m pretty new to living on my own.  I’m easily overwhelmed, so the idea of bills being due in a few days is kinda freaking me out.  I can let personal things slip, like shopping, laundry, housework.  Sometimes, I need a nudge, sometimes I’ll need you to do it with me, and sometimes I’ll need you to step in and do it for me.”  Dominique ducks her head.  “It’s hard, asking for help.”

“I know.  But that’s why I’m here.  I’m not about to make you feel ashamed.  You know yourself.  You know what you need.  And we can touch base from time to time if you need something changed.”

“I might need you to make sure I eat?” she ventures.  

“I can do that.  How would you feel most comfortable with that happening?”

“Sometimes, I have days where I can’t get out of bed.  If that happens, it helps to just have somebody bring me something light and set it where I can reach it.  Kinda check in after a bit?  And water, too.”

“Any days more likely to be difficult for you?”

“Days off?” Dominique offers.  “If I have to get to work I can move forward and get stuff done but if I’m to myself too much, or don’t have a reason to get up, it’s hard to actually do it.”

“So, maybe we look at your schedule coming up and I can stop in those mornings?”

Dominique smiles shakily.  “Yeah, I think that’d work.”

They go over her work schedule for the next couple weeks, and Lena arranges to stop in on Wednesday mornings and every other weekend.  She makes it clear she can come other times as needed, but they’ll start here.

“I look forward to getting to hang out with you,” Lena smiles, extending her hand.

Dominique hesitantly puts out her own.  Lena phrased that just right.  No mention of ‘client’ or ‘work.’  Thank goodness.

“Thank you.”

–

That night, after a quick supper, she’s on her laptop in her room, when Mom and Dad pop up in the Family Chat window Dad started on Facebook.

_Michael Williams:_

_There you are!  How’s your first day officially on your own?_

_Dominique Williams:_

_Hi, Dad._

_Jaimie Williams:_

_Michael, give her a chance to breathe.  (Seriously how is everything?  You keeping my chair warm?)_

_Dominique Williams:_

_It’s going fine.  Work.  Met with Lena.  Had Ramen. You know.  Typical college kid life - without the college…_

_Jaimie Williams:_

_Oh, sweetie.  You gotta eat better than Ramen…_

_Dominique Williams:_

_It’s delicious._

_Michael Williams:_

_Who’s Lena?_

_Dominique Williams:_

_My support person here.  She’s cool.  Has a cat._

_Michael Williams:_

_Is she a ‘regular cat mom’ or a ‘cool cat mom’?_

_Dominique Williams:_

_Dad, if that’s supposed to be a Mean Girls reference, it was terrible._

_Michael Williams:_

_My bad._

A separate window pings to life.  This one has just her mom in it.

_Jaimie Williams:_

_Wanted to touch base w/ you about therapy.  Thought anymore abt it?_

_Dominique Williams:_

_…._

She has to do some fast thinking here.  Knows there is no way she’s about to spill all of her demons lying on a couch in some stranger’s office.  Dominique pulls up the private Facebook group for survivors that she found several months ago and has yet to request to join.

Taking a deep breath, she clicks  _Join_.

_Just joined a group online._

_Jaimie Williams:_

_Online? :/_

_Dominique Williams:_

_It’s how ppl do it now Mom.  Everything’s online. Catch up._

_Jaimie Williams:_

_You sure you wanna be that public abt it, hon?_

_Dominique Williams:_

_It’s a private group, Mom._

_Jaimie Williams:_

_Nothing’s really private on the internet._

_Dominique Williams:_

_Okay well I won’t be sharing, I just want info from them.  Can we please drop this?_

_Jaimie Williams:_

_Okay.  Didn’t mean to stress you out._

Family Chat pings again:

_Michael Williams:_

_Your costume room table is in transit.  It’ll arrive tomorrow.  When do you get off work?  I can help bring it inside._

_Jaimie Williams:_

_I think they bring it to the door, Michael.  Might even set it where she wants it._

_Dominique Williams:_

_Thanks guys.  Miss you._

_Jaimie Williams:_

_We miss you._

_Michael Williams:_

_To the moon and back, baby girl._

Dominique closes the chat window and swallows the massive lump in her throat.  Blinks back the tears in her eyes.  Remembers being young, before turning eleven, when her dad said goodnight to her with a hug and a kiss.

Every night, she would ask, “Daddy, how far do you love me?”

And every night, without fail, Dad would respond, “I love you to the moon and back, baby girl.”

He’d shortened it now, but Dominique’s pretty sure it means the same thing.

She hopes it does.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**_Scene II: Topsy Turvey_ **

The rest of Monday and all of Tuesday had been so busy, between meetings, work, talking to her parents and the arrival of her costume room table (at her door the minute she got back from work) that she hadn’t been able to spare a thought for Jesus.

She spends part of Tuesday afternoon erecting her costume room table (easy enough that it only took a few minutes.)  When it’s all set, she proudly takes a pic and sends it to Family Chat for Dad mostly, to see that her table arrived safe.

He sends a thumbs up but not much else.  Must still be at work.

It doesn’t take Dominique long to start getting lonely here.  Now that she’s gotten successfully through her first day, do her parents have total confidence that she’s fine and doesn’t need them?  Because it’s not like that at all.

She needs them.  Loves them.  Misses them.  More than she ever thought she would.  She was so set on moving out, she hadn’t thought of what a big change it would be.  She gets out her costuming stuff to work on Hermione some more, but seeing the wand Mom made makes Dominique feel more alone than ever.

“Roberta?” Dominique calls.  “Did Dudley eat you?”

From the living room, Dominique can hear the cat’s perturbed response at her insinuation.  Dominique peeks around the doorframe into the living room. Roberta’s yellow eyes glow Halloween-creepy in the dark.

“What are you doing out here alone?  Come in here with me.”

Roberta stays put on the giant green couch.

“Please?” she asks.  “I’ll sing you a song…” she bribes.

Roberta considers this.  

“ _When I think of home, I think of a place where there’s love overflowing.  I wish I was home.  I wish I was back there with the things I been knowing…._ ”

Roberta’s up and walking toward her just like that.   _The Wiz_.  Works like a charm.

“ _Oh, and if you’re listening, God, please don’t make it hard for me to know if we should believe in the things that we see.  Should we run away, or should we try and stay, or would it be better just to let things be?_ ”

Back in the office in “Mom’s” chair, Dominique pats her lap and Roberta jumps into it, purring, to be cuddled.  Dominique wraps a blanket around herself.  Keeps singing:

“ _Living here, in this brand new world, might be a fantasy. But it taught me to love, so it’s real, real to me.  And I’ve learned that we must look inside our hearts to find a world full of love.  Like yours, like mine.  Like home_.”

Roberta nuzzles against Dominique’s hand.  

“I miss them, too,” she says.

She goes to bed early, even though the next day is her day off.  Lena will be here at 10 AM - their agreed upon time - to check in.  

But that night she dreams of awful things.  Pain.  Digital clocks with red numbers marking the long minutes before it was over.

Dominique wakes up sweating.  Swearing.  Screaming.  Even with her noise machine and the bathroom fan on, she’s worried that she might wake up Jesus or any of her other neighbors.  (Someone lives below her.  Someone else next door.)

She half expects someone to come knocking, but no one does.

Dominique gets on her phone.  On Facebook, to see if her survivors group accepted her yet.  They haven’t. But a Google search brings her to a message board with various topics listed.  Dominique clicks ‘Nightmares’ and reads.

It doesn’t take long to realize that reading about other people’s horrors will do nothing to help her sleep.

She stays up late, watching a Harry Potter marathon on TV.  The volume’s on low.  It helps pass the time and the hours drag til daylight.  Then, Dominique can legitimately shower.  Dress.  Be sort of presentable when Lena arrives.

–

Wednesday was lost in a blur of naps, and an irritable as hell mood.  It doesn’t make sense to her at all.  That night brings more nightmares.  Until Thursday morning dawns, and she looks at her phone.  Sees the date: August 27th.

Well, no wonder.

She walks to the elevator like a zombie, hoping for enough time to stop by Starbucks for a grande iced white mocha.  She’d get a trenta, but she doesn’t have a death wish.  Not even today.  If nothing else, today means she lived.

The elevator doors slide open, and Jesus is inside with Dudley.

“Seriously?” she  asks under her breath.

At the same time, Jesus reprimands Dudley, who smells Roberta all over her: “Dudley, seriously?  No.”

“You have Lena, right?  As your person?” he asks as the elevator takes them down.

“Why?” Dominique asks, suspicious.

Jesus shrugs.  (It’s so like her version of Imaginary Jesus that Dominique shivers.)  “Nothing.  Just…my mom’s name is Lena, too.”

“And mine’s name is Jaimie.  What’s your point?” she asks.

“She’s nice.  That’s all,” Jesus says.  “Hey.  Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am okay.  No, I haven’t always looked like this.  Ten years ago today, I was in a car accident.  Satisfied?”  She rushes off the elevator, mortified.  

Her saving grace is that working ‘til 4:30 means that she’ll have at least eight and a half hours to not think about Jesus, and how he left her hanging on Twitter, but now seems just as morbidly curious and rude as everybody else.

–

As much as Dominique had thought that a shift at the hospital would help her forget her trauma, it does the opposite.  Just being there on this day is enough to have her tense and watchful the whole time.  She hopes she doesn’t see Bev or any of the other nurses she knows.  She doesn’t want anybody connecting the dots about what day it is.

Doesn’t want anybody trying to say the right thing and ending up putting their foot in their mouth wishing her a “happy anniversary” on a day that is so mixed, at best.

She survived, and that’s great, and she is happy for that, but this is also a day that represents a Before and an After all its own.  A day when Dominique’s body was totally, irrevocably changed.  Her arms, her neck, part of her face, her legs.  All different now.  All scarred.  And not in a way she can hide, unless she decides to put serious work in, which she does.  She wears long sleeves under her scrub top.  Wears makeup and a wig each day.  But she’s still beyond self-conscious that someone might see something - say something - about scars she can’t cover.  By her ear, or on her hands.

It’s what made her react badly to Jesus this morning.  His question about her well-being was often used by perfect strangers as an opening to ask more invasive questions.  Dominique is used to that.  Used to the violation that exists when people she doesn’t know ask her questions.  She just can’t deal with any today.

–

She arrives home by 5 PM, exhausted and ready for bed.  She unlocks the door and lets herself in.  Her phone pings with a text:

_Mom:_

_Dad wants to bring you a cake._

She texts back:

_Can you tell him the anniversary is tomorrow?_

_Mom:_

_I can tell him you’ll feel more like cake tomorrow.  Lemon?_

_Dominique:_

_The bundt cake?  No frosting?_

_Mom:_

_You got it.  You okay today?_

_Dominique:_

_Not really.  Snapped at some guy in the elevator this AM._

_Mom:_

_Giving you a hard time?_

_Dominique:_

_Not sure._

She’s still standing in the entryway, just inside her front door.  It’s closed at her back, but she can definitely hear someone leave something outside for her.

Dominique watches the time - waits a full minute - before daring the stick her head out the door and investigate.  

She sees what was left instantly and brings it inside.  An unbelievably soft gray blanket, and a Tupperware container full of chocolate cookies with marshmallows in them.  Belatedly, she spies the note, taped to the lid of the container:

_Anniversary dates are hard.  Hot chocolate cookies and a blanket always help me.  Hope you feel better.  Jesus and Dudley (306)_

_Dominique:_

_Just got more cookies than I could ever eat.  You and Dad like hot chocolate ones?_

_Mom:_

_From who???_

_Dominique:_

_Elevator Guy and his dog._

She turns off her phone before she gets the third degree about Jesus and whether he is cute or not.  Dominique’s not interested.  Not romantically. Now she _could_  use a friend - but definitely not one who would ignore her and then drop stuff off at her door without even knocking.  Doesn’t even wanna give her something to her face.

Roberta’s walked over and is sniffing at the cookies in the container, investigating.  They look like they smell amazing, but Dominique is seriously thinking about dropping everything back off outside  _his_  door without knocking.

She’s about to do just that, but when Dominique goes to pick up the container of cookies with the blanket folded on top, she finds Roberta there, on top of both like a queen.

“Oh, you think that’s yours now?”

Roberta purrs.

“We’re not keeping it…” she warns.

Roberta’s tail flicks back and forth.  She’s so happy.  Dominique hates her a little.

“Traitor,” she mutters and seriously thinks about tipping Roberta off her throne to have a cookie, but thinks better of it and sits on the couch, launching into the last verse of _No Good Deed_  from  _Wicked_.

“ _No good deed goes unpunished.  All helpful urges should be circumvented.  No good deed goes unpunished.  Sure, I meant well, but look at what well-meant did…_ ”

Dominique isn’t sure if she’s singing to Jesus, or to herself.

(It’s easier to be annoyed, easier to sing, than to admit that Jesus and his niceness is scaring the crap out of her.)


	10. Chapter 10

**_Scene III: Relying on Intellect_ **

For the record?  Dominique makes it fifteen minutes before trying one of Jesus’s cookies.  It’s amazing.

She’s full of resentful, unkind thoughts toward Jesus - like who has time to bake what are clearly homemade cookies?  Does he have nothing better to do?  

It’s when Lena stops by Saturday morning, while Dominique is buried under every blanket she owns, planning to never come out, that her opinion starts to shift a little.

Lena knocks and waits.  Knocks again.  

The woman knocks for a full minute until Dominique is sure she’s gonna stop.  Sighing, she climbs down out of bed and walks to the door.  Opens it.  Walks away.  

“Hey.  Morning.”  If she’s judging the state of the couch, covered in crumbs with only a few cookies left and blankets and pillows all over the place, she doesn’t say.

“Oh, my God, are these from Jesus?”  Lena’s spotted the cookies.  “Hot chocolate….that’s his best kind…” she sing-songs a little.  “Seriously, girl, you lucked out.”

“He give cookies to everybody?”

“No, but about once a month, he bakes and leaves them in the lobby for whoever wants them.”

“You can finish those if you want.”  Dominique gestures half-heartedly to the Tupperware beside her.  Roberta’s hogging the gray blanket all to herself, so Dominique wraps up in one from her mom.  This stretch of days seriously sucks.

“Don’t tempt me,” Lena smiles.  “You want some milk with those?” she asks easily, and Dominique realizes that she’s using Jesus’s cookie Tupperware as an armrest.

She shrugs, surprised when Lena sets a glass of milk down on the end table closest to Dominique.

It’s quiet for a while, and eventually Dominique’s able to nibble at a cookie.  Yeah.  Still good.

She gets lost in her head as she eats, thinking back against her will.  There was a time when having this damn cookie would have made her whole week.

“ _You like my cookie, huh?_ ” Little Jesus asks in her mind.  

Dominique shakes her head.  Clears her throat.  “So, what do you know about him?”

“I’m sorry?” Lena asks.

“Jesus, the cookie chef,” she says dryly.

“He’s quiet.  Keeps to himself.  Great baker.  _Sweet_  dog,” Lena lists.

“I’m kinda scared Dudley’ll eat Roberta…” she offers dully.

“Oh, he’s so scared of other animals.  That won’t be a problem.”

“Huh,” Dominique muses.

Eventually, Lena drops the bomb:  “So, on weekends, we go out shopping, as a group.”

Dominique narrows her eyes.  “Why?” she asks in a measured tone.

“Because it’s something that’s hard for a lot of people, but they find it easier when they can tackle it as a group.  Less daunting.”

“They gonna give me a hard time if I dress up?” Dominique asks.

“What do you mean?” Lena asks, confused.

“I cosplay.”

“Like for Comic-Con?”

“Like for going out in public,” Dominique clarifies.

“No, I don’t think anybody would care.  Who are you going as today?”

“I was thinking Tiana…”

“From  _The Princess and the Frog_ , right?  Oh, I wanna see that!”

Lena’s enthusiasm is enough for Dominique to drag herself off the couch.  She shuts herself in her costume room and gets to work becoming Tiana.  She needs to be somebody else today.  Can’t afford to be seen when she’s feeling so destroyed personally.

It takes a while, but eventually, Dominique emerges.  

She blinks.  Her living room looks like it got cleaned by her dad.  Spotless.  Cookies are put away.  Gray blanket (and all the others) folded on an arm of the couch.  Pillows picked up.

“Okay, wow,” Dominique manages.  “That is impressive.”

Lena, though, is all about her Tiana dress.  “Did you make this?”

“God, no.  Thrift store, and then my mom helped me alter it a little.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Dominique asks, shy.

“I don’t lie.  You’re always gonna get the truth from me.”

She’s got her keys before she can think to check on what they’re doing for transportation.  “Sorry.  Will this work?  If I drive?  I’m not too big on ride sharing…”

“Fine with me,” Lena agrees.  “As long as you don’t mind I’m sharing _your_ ride…”

Dominique rolls her eyes.  “You and my dad would get along very well.”

–

They arrive at the closest Target to find everyone else is already there.  They’re hard to miss.  The cluster of red carts by the door.  People casting uneasy glances.  Service animals.  

She picks Jesus out right away.  Dominique suspects they are two of the youngest here.  She knows Jesus is several months older than she is, but most of these residents are middle-aged or elderly.  It’s why Jesus is so easy to spot with his tallness, and his white tee with toast, an egg and bacon holding hands and smiling, over the caption BEST FRIENDS.  He has a grey beanie hat on, and a woman is with him.

Dominique knows right away it’s neither of his moms - not the cop, or Lena the vice principal.  She’s 30-something, with shoulder length brown hair and blue eyes.

“That’s Val,” Lena points out, tracking where Dominique’s looking.

Slowly, the carts start dispersing, but Jesus hangs out there, with Dudley and Val.  He’s white-knuckling the cart.  Eying the electronics side of the store warily.

“You wanna hang out for a while here, or you ready to start?” Lena asks.

“No.  Let’s go,” she insists.

She needs things she didn’t imagine ever needing: a coffee maker.  A toaster.  Extra storage for her bathroom.  It’s been three seconds, and she’s already overwhelmed, standing completely still in the middle of the aisle.  There’s a kid having a screaming tantrum in to the left, and Dominique can’t think straight.

“Here.  Let’s go this way,” Lena urges and leads them to where she can barely hear the screaming child at all.   Coffee makers.

“What’s cheapest?” she asks flatly.

Lena finds one that works for Dominique and sets it in the cart for her.  Then they’re off to look for filters.  For toasters.  For little plastic drawers.

They find Jesus in the frozen section.  He seems just as overwhelmed as Dominique was early in the trip.  

“Excuse me,” she says, and walks around him to open a freezer to buy more pizza.  Jesus backs off and Dominique’s confused.  When they used to play What’s Your Favorite all the time and played the food version?  Jesus’s first answer was always:

“ _Pizza, easy.  Plain cheese, or plain cheese and pepperoni if I have to_.”

She wants to tell him it’s okay, but her heartbeat speeds up and the words stick in her throat.  She hurries away.

Later, she finds him in the fresh produce section, with a look on his face like he wishes he could take home the entire section of the store.  He’s loading up his cart with all the fresh fruit and vegetables he can.  Val’s reminding him softly that he’s on a budget.  He’s struggling with it.  Dominique can tell.

“ _What’s your favorite food_?” he used to ask, anytime there was a boring moment (because it was seriously all about food then.)

“ _Spaghetti_ ,” she’d say.  “ _What’s yours_?”

“ _Tacos, if I can’t have pizza,_ ” he’d answer.

She never imagined Jesus would be so all about fresh produce.  It’s weird.

By the time they’re done, Lena wants to stop for Starbucks.  Dominique hasn’t forgotten that there’s one in the store.  They get in line.   It doesn’t take long to hear Jesus and Val talking in whispers that aren’t exactly whispers.  She’s trying to take his anxiety down about something, but it’s clearly not working.

In her peripheral vision she can see him in a chair, pale, and rocking a little.  Dudley’s front paws are on Jesus’s lap, and the dog is licking his face.  The line moves up.  Lena gets a frappucino and Dominique orders her iced mocha, finally.  “And this,” she adds, picking up an item on a whim and adding it to her total.

On her way by Jesus, who’s still clearly dealing with something, Dominique sets the giant, wrapped chocolate chip cookie on the table beside him.  “Here.  Somebody told me these are supposed to help.  You know?  On tough days.”

Dudley has knocked the cookie into Jesus’s lap, and it seems to have gotten through to him.  He focuses.  Clears his throat.  Nods.  Offers in a hoarse voice: “Yeah, I know I heard that somewhere before…”

She and Lena leave together.  Thankfully, Lena doesn’t mention anything.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Scene IV: Out There_ **

On Sunday afternoon, Dominique finally has no excuse left.  She’s eaten all eight of Jesus’s cookies in four days.  She’s washed his Tupperware.  It’s officially time to woman up and knock on his door to return the thing.

She takes a deep breath.  Knocks.  Waits.  Knocks again.

Finally, the door opens.  “Hey.  Just returning this,” she greets, ready to turn around and leave.

“Wait.  Wanna come in?”

Dominique stays where she is.  “Anybody ever tell you you come on strong?”

“Not really.  No.  Can I ask why you’re blue?  Like literally?”

“I’m Sadness.  Deal with it.”

“Okay…” (Count Jesus in the 1% of people who have never seen  _Inside Out_.)

The silence keeps growing and Dominique can’t help it.  She has to fill it.  “Listen.  Sorry if it was weird yesterday or whatever with the cookie.  I didn’t mean to like make light of your stuff…or whatever.”

“I didn’t take it that way.”

“Oh.”  

“I have a cat.  By the way.  I’m so sorry.  I babble when I’m nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous?”

She shrugs, not ready to admit she knows him - kind of.

“Okay, well…see ya, I guess…”

“Yeah.  I guess,” she manages.

–

“Honey, if you’re nervous about hanging out with him somewhere that’s not public, try somewhere that is,” Mom suggests.  It’s Sunday night, and she and Dad are over for belated traumaversary lemon cake.

It’s one thing in her life that’s going right.  This cake right here.  Her parents, still coming through after all, not thinking she’d suddenly be 100% fine on her own.

“Mmm…  This cake, Michael…” Mom moans.

“I consider it one of many skills, my mastery of boxed cake mixes and bundt pans…” he offers dryly.

Dominique cracks a smile.

“Ooh, got a smile out of Sadness!” Dad exclaims, like his day is made.

“I don’t know.  I don’t really want it to seem like I’m too eager or something.”  She drops her voice.  “You guys know he’s Jesus from the news, right?” she asks.

“The little boy from 2007, kidnapped right off of Villa Mariposa?  No, I did not know that,” Mom breathes.  “It’s good to be cautious, all right?  It is.  But I think it’s not a bad idea, if he’s got a good head on his shoulders –”

“–Like you,” Dad interjects.

Dominique nails him with a skeptical look.

“What?  You’re smart.  I can say that, can’t I?”

“If it’s true…” Dominique ventures, soft.

“It definitely is,” Dad says.  He’s quiet, too, but confident.

“Right.  If he’s got a good head on his shoulders -  _like you_  - I don’t think it’s a bad idea to maybe wanna be his friend.  You two might find some common ground.”

“We _have_  common ground - he lives right across the hall.” Dominique quips, raw still, from the time of year, and everything it means.

That night, she texts Mom privately after they both leave:

_How come you and Dad never talk about it?_

_Mom:_

_We do._

_Dominique:_

_I mean, to me._

Mom takes a long time responding, but Dominique’s got nothing but time:

_Mom:_

_We were advised not to, by a therapist, after you got home.  Not to bring it up unless you did.  We didn’t want to make things harder on you._

_Dominique:_

_You bake a cake but you won’t talk about it._

_Mom:_

_Maybe, in his own way, Dad is talking about it when he bakes the cake._

_Dominique:_

_And what way are you talking about it?_

_Mom:_

_I’m sorry._

Dominique turns down the volume on her phone and plugs it in away from her so she doesn’t have to see it.

–

After an intense week of work, Dominique finally has time to breathe.  She’s left a message with Lena, to let her know not to come in, because she’s got other plans today.  She takes her phone, and her journal to the quiet little park near their building and snaps a few pictures of the nature.

It’s pretty.  It’s a break from the four walls of a hospital and all the memories inside it.  On one hand, she feels okay there.  Known.  Seen.  People there have seen her at her absolute worst.  On the other hand, though, she remembers everything that happened there.  And that truth is so heavy, she could easily drown in it.

She needs to focus on something good for a while.  

It’s been a while since she’s written any poetry.  It comes in bursts.  Some in stanza, some stuck together like stream of consciousness writing.  She thinks about hope.  About light.  She starts:

_Night becoming day.  Sun streaking across a deeply shadowed, sleeping sky.  Colors streaking, waking, being.  Sun rising.  I am rising.  Because I have lived to see this new day.  This new moment.  This fresh glory.  Because it exists and I exist in the light it throws out.  Because the name I keep secret means light.  So I know, that is what I am to be.  It’s why Daylight and me, we have a kinship.  A deep connection.  The light is the thing I strive every day to be.  To light up shadows.  To show secrets.  Yet how can I do that, be that, believe that, when so much of who I really am is, in fact, a secret?  Light gives me hope, but do I give hope to those around me?  Can I be something I only rarely feel.  For seconds when the daylight creeps over the horizon?_

Next, she catches sight of her  _Hunger Games_  jersey, and the braid over one shoulder.  Remembers that today she is Katniss (without bows and arrows).  She continues, thinking about fantasy; about what it means to her:

_There is safety_

_Within these castle walls_

_Within these sheep skins_

_And borrowed sins._

_Envelop me_

_In tulle_

_And myriad tools_

_Appear._

It takes her the better part of an hour, but after she writes, Dominique does feel better.  Lighter.  She breathes and glances around.  Checks her phone.  Lena had texted and Dominique let her know it was fine to go into the apartment and clean a little if she really wanted.

From behind her, a throat clears and she looks over her shoulder.  

Jesus.  

He raises his eyebrows slightly at the empty side of the picnic bench.  

Dominique nods, carefully, thinking of what Mom said.  He sits down with his own pad of paper and she finds she can’t concentrate on writing a thing.  So she looks through her pictures instead.  Checks for Dudley, who’s found shade under the table.

“Can I take your picture, Dudley?” she whispers.

He glances her way, and she takes it.

It’s perfect.

Dominique swallows, feeling eyes on her.  Jesus, who had been busy with a pencil and what looks like a sketchbook, isn’t drawing anymore.  He’s gathering his stuff to leave.

“Hey, whoa.  What just happened?” she asks.

“I’m not great with pictures on the DL,” he admits.  “So, I’m just gonna go.”

“Listen, I took one of Dudley.  Not of you.  I swear.  And I asked him first.  He turned and even smiled for it.  Look.”  Dominique holds out her phone as proof.  “You can look at them.  I don’t photograph people.  I do nature.  And animals.”

Jesus has warily accepted her phone and is flipping through her pics.  “Is this your cat?” he asks, a little breathless.

“It is.  That’s Roberta.  She’s a diva.”

“She looks…intimidating,” Jesus admits.

“Well, Dudley’s kinda imposing, too.  Like, he could eat Roberta in three bites, but I’m not judging him, am I?” Dominique asks lightly.

“True.”  He hands the phone back and Dominique sets it on the table.  

“You can sit back down if you want.  Over there,” she nods to his side.  “I’ll leave my phone there.”

Dudley comes out from under the table and stands next to Jesus until Jesus can walk back to the table and sit.

“Can I see what you’re drawing?”

He turns the book and slides it toward her.  She takes it in.  A dark room.  A single, small window, high up on a wall, with light streaking through it.

“I like this.”

“It’s nothing.” he dismisses.

“No, I like the window.”

“I always wanted one,” he comments softly, before he blinks and seems to realize he’s spoken aloud.  Questions and panic are on his face.

“I know,” she finally says, acknowledging.  “We’re the same age.  Both grew up here.  Hard not to see the news,” she offers, apologetic.  “Sorry.”

“So, truth time?” he asks.

“Sure,” she agrees.  She doesn’t know what truth time entails, but honesty sounds good to her.

“Are you cool with me now ‘cause you figured out who I am?”

“I’ve known who you were since well before we rode the elevator together, and I was a jerk to you several times since then,” she points out.

“So, what changed?  You used to not want anything to do with me, and you do now?  I don’t get it.”

“We’re in public,” she admits.

“Oh.”

“I’m Dominique Williams,” she says.

“Jesus Foster,” he returns, looking her in the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second poem that appears here (in verse form) was written by my sister.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Scene V: Decide to Stay_ **

Life gets busy over the next week, with work and continued adjustment to living on her own.  Mom and Dad are always there if she needs something, but Dominique tries not to need anything.  The next Wednesday, she heads back to the park to hang out at the picnic table and take pictures of the trees.

If there’s one thing she loves about this place, it’s that it exists in a kind of bubble where no one asks invasive questions about each other.  No one cares that she dresses up.  While they ask questions, they don’t judge it.  It’s refreshing.  Like, she can come out here in a Hermione robe, and nobody looks twice.  She’s gotten a quick reputation for being the one who might be a different character every day, but instead of getting a hard time about it, the other residents look forward to seeing that day’s costume.

She doesn’t expect to find Jesus here again.  But he shows up about a half hour after she does.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me,” she ventures, putting her phone face down on the table for his benefit.

“I didn’t wanna say anything…but this…kinda used to be my spot.”

“Seriously,” Dominique says, standing up.  “Well, I’ll get out of your way.”

“No.  Wait..  I didn’t mean it like that,” Jesus objects.

“Really?  ‘Cause it kinda sounded like an invitation to vacate…” Dominique points out.

“It wasn’t.  I don’t like all company…but I don’t mind yours,” Jesus admits quietly.  “I like knowing you don’t treat me different…even knowing who I am…”

Dominique considers this - then, slowly, she sits back down.  Dudley’s under the table again, but she doesn’t mind.  Makes her think about Roberta.  Dominique’s gotta make time to hang out with her, too.

Jesus is drawing again, and Dominique is trying not to stare.  Finally, she can’t stand it anymore and gets up to take some more pictures of the park, after giving Jesus a heads up.  When she comes back, Jesus is still drawing.

“One of my sisters is like that.  Always taking pictures,” he offers.

“Hmm,” Dominique muses.  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Well, you’ve been clear about what you’re doing and why.  So it’s not a bad thing.  So far.”

“I don’t know anybody who can draw like you,” she offers.

“What do you mean?”  he asks, glancing up.

“I mean, like, my dad can draw a good stick-person.  He even did a short cartoon once of a rock falling on one of his stick people using pages of an old phone book and flipping them really fast.”

“Did it look real?” Jesus checks.

As real as a two-dimensional rock falling on a stick-person can look.  But I was seven, so…”

“So you were impressed?” Jesus checks, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I was.”

“You like your parents?” Jesus asks, still drawing.

“ _I like my parents.  Who says that?  I love my parents_ ,” she sings, clapping a hand over her mouth too late.  She totally just injected  _Sincerely, Me_  from  _Dear Evan Hansen_  into casual conversation.  “I’m so sorry.  You were not supposed to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” he says easily.  

“Just…kind of a strange question…” she allows.  “Why?  Do you get along with yours?”

“Used to,” he sighs.  “It’s been kinda rocky lately…well, for years, I guess.  We went on this trip to Minnesota all together, and it kind of undid a lot of the trust I feel for them.  We’ve never really gotten that back.  Not all the way.”

“Yeah, trust is hard,” she nods.

Jesus puts the sketchbook down on the table between them and turns it so she can see it.  This time, it’s a drawing of their picnic table.  A perfect rendering.  But beside it, in the ground, where none exists, Jesus has added a sign in his picture.  It’s wooden - reminds her of one of those in the old Winnie the Pooh cartoons.  This one says  _AVOIDANCE_.  

Dominique considers it.  “What are you avoiding?”

“Laundry,” he admits.

“Can’t Val help with that?”

“She can, but I want to work on being able to deal with it myself.  And it’s hard.”  He’s silent a while.  “Did you mean what you said about that I come on too strong?”

Dominique nods, and then feels her breath catch.  “I mean…”

“No, it’s okay.  I was just curious.  No one’s ever used those words to describe me before…but they make sense.”

“They do?” she asks, still wary.

“Yeah.  I lived a big part of my life trying to make sure the other person in it was always…whatever…  So I guess I am kinda sensitive to moods.”

“You’re saying I’m moody?”

“You’re dressed like a wizard…” he points out.

“You’ve never read  _Harry Potter_?” she asks, incredulous.

“Not much time for reading, no…”

“Huh.  So…this is awkward, but you wanna go to Starbucks?” she asks.

“The one in the Target?  Not really,” he allows.

“There are other Starbucks,” she clarifies, wondering if Target was the trigger for him.

“There’s actually a coffee shop right near here.  It’s not a big one - not a Starbucks - but I always wanted to check it out.” Jesus offers.

“I’m not getting in a car with you,” she says bluntly.

“ _I’m_ not getting in a car with  _you_.” he returns, just as serious as she is.  “It’s walking distance from the apartment.”

“Fine,” she agrees.

It’s a nice day to be out.  Clear sky.  Not too hot.  But Dominique’s still on edge.  Glancing at everything.  Jesus seems the same, but at least he has Dudley.  Dominique wishes Roberta were here.  But she’s too fancy for the outdoors.

The coffee shop is close.  Small.  Homey.  Looks new.  Like she and Jesus are the first two to discover it.  They approach the counter, and Dominique immediately spots the lemon poppyseed muffins.  She picks one out and a bottle of water, while Jesus stares at all the food in the lighted case.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I want everything,” he whispers.  “But I don’t actually have money…so…”

“I got it.  Pick out what you want.”

“You don’t understand.  I literally want every single thing inside there.”

She takes a breath.  “So what do you need right now?”

“I can’t choose.”

“Is it okay if I do?  Do you trust me enough to do that?”

“Yeah…I mean, I guess…”

Dominique cracks a smile.  “Well, with that resounding show of support, I think you can try…this cinnamon swirl coffee cake.  Some water…assuming you’re not a coffee guy?  Are you?”

Jesus shakes his head.

“Okay, water.  And _this_  cookie.  ‘Cause cookies help everything.  Oh, which reminds me…” She turns to the barista: “Can we have two frozen hot chocolates, please?”

“Sure,” the barista answers.  He tells Dominique the total, and when she holds the money out, he pretends not to see her scarred hand.  Dominique feels heat flood her face.

“Dude, she’s a wizard.  You should be freakin’ honored to accept money from her,” Jesus insists, his eyes flashing.

“Oh, sorry.  I didn’t see…” the barista stutters.

“Yeah, I bet…” Dominique comments under her breath.  “Let’s go.”

They’re outside again, carrying their stuff back to the park.  It’s quiet for several minutes.  Until Jesus sips his frozen hot chocolate.

“Damn,” he says sounding disappointed.

“What?” she asks.  “Is it awful?  Please tell me it’s awful so I can go back in there and cast a spell on him, Hermione-style.”

“No.  It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my twenties.  I hate that that asshat makes such good drinks.”

“We are going back to Avoidance, aren’t we?” Dominique asks, in a light but measured tone.  “In Avoidance, we don’t have to think about asshats who make perfect frozen hot chocolates.  We can think about  _friends_ who make amazing hot chocolate  _cookies_ …”

“Wait.  We’re friends?” Jesus asks.

“Well, I was hoping…” Dominique ventures.

“Friends heading back to Avoidance together…” Jesus tries out.  “I like it.”

Dominique smiles.  “And with a wizard, no less.”

Jesus does too.  “Yeah, looks like I lucked out.”


	13. Chapter 13

**_Scene VI: Tomorrow There’ll Be More of Us_ **

After a busy weekend of work, Dominique finds herself taking her time at the elevator to see if Jesus will want to ride down too, but he doesn’t show.  And she has to go.  She needs to make money if she wants to keep living here.

She’s behind the desk and dealing with a million messages and phone calls when she glances up and sees Jesus walk in with a shorter girl.  Dominique knows right away it’s his twin sister.  Both have dark hair, cut short, with a little curl and dark eyes.  His sister wears glasses.  That and the height are the two major differences.

Dominique wants to simultaneously call out to Jesus and hide under the desk.  He hasn’t seen her out of costume yet, and she’s not sure if she’s ready for that today.  When hospital life and real life collide, things get weird and hard, and fast.

Jesus, it turns out, spots her first.  His worried expression splits into a tired smile.  Dudley trots beside him.  “Hey!  Dominique!  This is my sister, Mariana!”

“Nice to meet you, Mariana,” Dominique greets, leaning hard on her training in interacting with patients and families.  The desk functions as a needed barrier, it’s true, but so does her training.

“Hey,” Mariana offers quietly after a minute.

“Well, we gotta go, but maybe see you later?” Jesus asks.

“Yeah, maybe,” she allows.

“Like for dinner tonight?  Come eat with us?  My place?  Will you be off by five?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t wanna impose…break up Twin Time…”

“Nah, you wouldn’t be,” Jesus insists, getting on the elevator with Mariana.

“What did I just agree to?” Dominique wonders under her breath.

She doesn’t see Jesus and Mariana leave, but they’re on her mind all day.  She doesn’t know why she hasn’t told Jesus yet that she was the receptionist on-duty the night he came in looking for Mariana back in March.  It’s been six months.  It’s not like he’d be mad or anything.

–

Roberta is yowling so loudly when Dominique gets home that afternoon that she expects to find her cat being mauled.  Instead, she’s waiting by the door, and continues meowing loudly.

“What is your problem?  I’m gonna feed you.  Settle down, please.”  Dominique detours to feed Roberta before she gets Dominique a noise complaint, and then it’s a serious struggle to decide what to change into.  She’s never spent time with Mariana, and Mariana probably doesn’t know a lot of people who dress like every day is Halloween.  

Finally, Dominique glances at the clock.  It’s 5:05, and she’s officially late.  She thinks about ducking out altogether.  But there’s a knock on her apartment door before she can act on it.

She pulls open the door and steps out, closing it behind her so Roberta can’t escape.

“You ready?” Jesus asks.

“You’re serious about this.  Okay.  Do you remember the thing I said about the coming on strong, and the hanging out in public places?”

“Yeah.  I do.  That’s why I thought we’d go to Avoidance for dinner.”

Mariana makes a face at Jesus.  “What’s Avoidance?”  She doesn’t seem bothered by Dominique just in her clothes she wore to work.  

“Only the best al fresco dining in town.” Jesus insists.

“You’re carrying a picnic basket.” Dominique realizes.  “I didn’t know people actually had those.”

“Well how else was I gonna carry all the food?” Jesus asks lightly.  Dudley’s there, a faithful sidekick, while they walk to the park.  Their pace is slow, but Dominique doesn’t mind.  It’s a pretty night.  She hopes the park isn’t busy.

But she spots the table, sitting flawlessly under some of Dominique’s most favorite trees, where the sunlight filters down perfectly.

“Glad we got the good table,” Jesus says, breathless as they sit - him and Mariana on one side - Dominique on the other.

“This is seriously the only table, Jesus,” Mariana says.  She sounds sad, or like her day’s been hard, too.

“I know,” he says, and opens up the basket which is loaded with bottled water, sub sandwiches, fruit and potato chips.  He sets everything around.

“I come here to avoid thinking about whatever’s stressing me out,” he tells Mariana around a bite of sandwich.

“What if that’s every single thing in your life?” Mariana asks, picking at her food.

“Sounds like you’re overdue for a trip to Avoidance…” Dominique offers.

“Basically,” Mariana nods.

Dominique feels like she can actually breathe and be herself around these two.  It’s not awkward around Mariana.  She’s not one of those girls who has it all together, and she doesn’t pretend she does, either.  She’s struggling, and she’s honest about it.

“You should seriously see her cat,” Jesus confides.  “She looks like Count Dracula’s cat or something…” he grins.

“Oh, she does not.  Mariana, you’re the tie breaker, okay?  Dracula Cat or adorable cat?” Dominique shows off her phone, her screen saver a picture of Roberta looking regal and perfect.  Long gray fur and stunning yellow eyes.

“Oh, my God, she’s  _amazing_.  Can I meet her sometime?” Mariana asks.

“Yeah.  She and Dudley haven’t been formally introduced, but if you wanna stop in after we’re done here, I’d be fine with that.”

“What about me?” Jesus asks, insulted.

“You said she was Dracula Cat.” Dominique points out evenly.  

“It’s not like she understands me,” Jesus scoffs.  “Even if you go home and tell her what I say.  You don’t do that, do you?”  he checks.

“She totally understands me,” Dominique confides to Mariana, and Mariana nods knowingly.  “And she loves it when I sing show tunes to her, but not anything from  _Cats_.  She’s insulted that they’re not real cats.”

“Right.  Makes sense,” Mariana nods.

“Roberta does love that gray blanket, though.” Dominique allows.

“That was for _you_!” Jesus laughs.

“I know.  But right when I brought your cookies and that blanket inside.  And they were kinda stacked on each other?  She sat on the blanket.  Every time I try to find it now, Roberta’s lying on it.”

“Aww,” Mariana coos.  “That’s adorable.”

They talk until the light starts to fade.  Then both Dominique and Jesus eye the sky above them.  “We should get going,” Jesus offers.

“Right,” Dominique agrees.

They take their time getting back, walking in silence.  They ride the elevator up to the third floor, and as promised, Dominique invites Mariana inside, while Jesus waits out front with Dudley, to take Mariana home.

“This…is Roberta…” Dominique grunts hefting the cat in her arms.  “Roberta, this is Mariana.  Her brother gave you your favorite blanket.”

Roberta glares at Mariana, clearly unimpressed.

“She’s not the warmest.  Sorry,” Dominique apologizes.

“No, she’s the best,” Mariana decides.  

“So I kinda thought maybe you and Jesus lived together.”

“No, I wish.  He moved here when I was still in college.  Then I had to move home,” Mariana wrinkles her nose.

“I take it you don’t get along with your parents either?” Dominique guesses.

“Well, nobody wants to live with their parents at 22.”

“I hear you.  I have the best parents ever, and even then I was like, _Get me out of here_.”

“Thanks for introducing me to Roberta.  I should go, though.” Mariana makes a sad face.

“Let me walk you out.  Sorry my place is a disaster.” Dominique apologizes.

“Oh please.  You should see my room at home,” Mariana counters.

“Listen.  If you ever need a place to hang out and Jesus is busy, and I’m home, stop over.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.  Sounds good.  Nice to meet you, Dominique.”  Mariana waves as she gets in the back.  Jesus is in the driver’s side.  Dudley is in the passenger side, his head hanging out the window.

“Nice to meet you,” she waves.

When she gets back upstairs, she texts Dad, feeling hesitant to text Mom again after their last interaction.

_Dominique:_

_Dad, I just met twins._

_Dad:_

_What kind?_

_Dominique:_

_????_

_Dad:_

_Identical?  Fraternal?  Conjoined?  Boy/boy?  Girl/girl?  Boy/girl?_

_Dominique:_

_You make them sound like some kind of weird science experiment.  IDK and boy/girl?_

_Dad:_

_Fraternal then.  Did they finish each other’s sentences?  Was it freaky?_

_Dominique:_

_No and no._

_Dad:_

_Were they cool?_

_Dominique:_

_I guess, yeah._

_Dad:_

_Glad you had fun, babe._

_Dominique:_

_Yeah.  Miss you._

_Dad:_

_Even after I tell you I ate all the rest of your cake?_

Dominique smiles to herself and then texts back:

_Yes.  Even then._


	14. Chapter 14

**_Scene VII:  Worlds You Keep Erasing and Creating in Your Mind_ **

_When they told her, Dominique couldn’t believe it._

_“It’s a dream, right?  This is a dream?  I’m still back there, and I’m gonna wake up.  You and Dad aren’t real.”_

_“Babe, we are very real.  This is happening.  You’re okay, though.  We promise,” Mom reassured from right by her head._

_Dominique closed her eyes.  Better to just deny everything.  She had to.  Couldn’t deal with the reality of this being true._

_When Mom backed off to talk to the doctors, Jesus the Ghost was just there in her place, like he’d been there the entire time.  Like, maybe, she’d never been alone, with this terrible news._

_It helped that in the hospital, when things were at their absolute worst, Jesus was there.  Dominique had been terrified that along with everything else she had to be scared of, that Jesus would be gone.  Now that she was in the bright lights.  Smelling of strong, mediciney smells.  Hearing (and making) screaming sounds._

_Dominique was sure Jesus would just vanish, because who would ever be here if they didn’t have to be?_

_She was wrapped up in white around her head.  Her arms.  Her legs.  Everything hurt.  Being real was like that, Dominique noticed._

_Being a ghost, stuff that was supposed to hurt really bad didn’t ‘cause you just stared at the time passing, and it was fine.  Or remembered every single cheer from cheer camp.  Or said every single state and capital, or every state alphabetically._

_But nothing could distract her from her realness now, not even Jesus and his ghost self.  Not even the fact that he’s dressed the same every time she saw him: a blue tee shirt, jeans and gray shoes with faded pink laces.  She hadn’t known that ghosts had clothes, but she was glad they did._

_She didn’t have much - just a gown - but Jesus never tried to touch it.  It made Dominique glad, somewhere.  That he never tried to mess with her.  Because maybe since ghosts knew how it felt, they never hurt each other._

_Bandage changes hurt worse than death.  Nurses tried to be nice to her, but it was too confusing. Because they were also the ones doing the hurting._

_Rehab was the same.  But the therapists at least were honest with her.  They told her it was gonna hurt, but they did it with soft, encouraging voices.  Pushed her past what she could take, because they felt they knew better._

_Was everybody out here just as awful as the johns?_

_But when Dominique thought about it, it actually made perfect sense.  Wasn’t it always the nice johns who ended up being the worst to her?_

_Maybe it was the same out here as it was in the life.  Maybe nobody called it the life, but that’s what it was.  Dominique didn’t know if she could stand it if that was true._

_She started losing control when she saw anybody coming toward her.  Anybody that could be there to hurt her.  She’d cry and feel like the biggest baby ever because she’d been through a lot, and why should this be the thing that broke her?_

_It didn’t make any sense._

_It was The Not-Dream Mom told her that might really do it.  That might break Dominique forever.  The knowing was too much for her brain to handle._

_The only thing that helped was that Jesus stayed by her.  His ghost-hands didn’t hurt when he tried to comfort her.  He wasn’t even mad that she was real now.  He was happy she made it. That’s how Dominique knew he was a real friend, not a fake one.  Real friends wanted their friends to live and be free, even if they might not get it themselves._

_The day she found out, Dominique didn’t cry at all.  It was like all her tears dried out from dealing with physical pain, and she had none left inside for this.  She just felt numb.  She felt empty.  She felt like everything she did failed.  Because if this was true, then it meant she really did fail._

_The whole reason she tried to get away was gone._

_During this time, Jesus didn’t try to tell her anything.  It was like he just knew there were no words for stuff like this.  It was too bad.  She was probably stupid to think that it could have all worked out, but she was still a kid.  Still just barely twelve.  Even with everything that happened, Dominique had held out a tiny bit of hope that this one thing would be okay._

_Mom and Dad tried to talk to her.  Asked her if she needed to talk to somebody who wasn’t them, but the point was, Dominique didn’t wanna talk to anybody.  She just wanted to sleep, but she hated how the drugs they gave made her fuzzy. Pulled her under._

_Sometimes, Jesus would offer to hold her hand.  Or try to sing her songs, but his voice was really bad.  He asked her to sing, though.  And that did help._

_“Hey.  What about that Frog movie you told me about?  Isn’t there a song from that?”_

_Dominique shut her eyes, but he was there inside her head._

_She didn’t wanna sing ever again.  Didn’t wanna live right now.  But Jesus would probably be mad if she died, and her parents would probably be upset, because they just found her._

_Even though her whole body and mind feels heavy with sadness, Dominique took a deep breath and sang softly:_

_“Mama, I don’t have time for dancing_

_That’s just gonna have to wait a while._

_Ain’t got time for messing around_

_And it’s not my style…”_

_The words Dominique whispered made her feel a little bit powerful, but just a little bit.  Because real life told her that she didn’t have any power at all.  That power was for adults.  For johns.  For Pimps. For nurses. Doctors. Surgeons. Therapists. Everybody but her._

_“It’s okay,” Jesus whispered. “They’re the princess’s words.  Not yours.  It’s okay to sing them.  You won’t get into trouble now.”_

_“I’m scared,” Dominique admitted inside her head.  “Nothing’s how I thought.”_

_“Yeah,” Jesus nodded.  “But I’m still here.”_

_“I hope you get found,” Dominique said silently.  Dully._

_“Me, too,” he agreed, solemn._

_“Jesus?  Do you think I failed?” she asked.  “Truth.”_

_“No.”_

_“Do you know what happened?” Dominique checked, tears welling in her eyes.  “Did you hear them talk to me?”_

_“Of course.  I hear everything you need me to hear.  We’re best friends, right?  It’s not your fault what happened.  You were just trying to do the right thing.”_

_“But I ruined everything,” she sighed, feeling like her insides were getting sucked down a ginormous drain.  “Did you ever?”_

_Jesus swallowed.  Looked away.  Nodded._

_“Did you believe if people ever said it’s not your fault?” Dominique asked, not looking away._

_“No one ever said that to me,” Jesus admitted._

_“Well if I said, ‘Jesus, remember that time you ruined everything? And everybody maybe said it was your fault or maybe you just believed it ‘cause what else could be true?  Well, it’s not.’  Do you believe me now, just because I said that it’s not on you?”_

_“No,” he said, looking her straight back in the face.  “But friends tell the truth.  I believe that.”_

_“Parents lie.” Dominique sniffed._

_“Yeah.  Grown-ups do a lot.  But kids don’t.  So you can trust me,” Jesus said, soft._

_He touched her head with his ghost hand, and she shivered even more than usual._

_“I was scared you wouldn’t be able to see me anymore…” Dominique managed, tears choking her voice._

_“I can always see you,” Jesus reassured, confident._

_“But I’m not a ghost anymore,” Dominique protested._

_“No.”_

_“Are you gonna leave ‘cause we’re not the same?” she checked._

_“Bad stuff still happened to you,” he said, matter of fact.  “And is still happening to me.  We_ are _the same, Dominique.”_

_She shivered stronger.  Ghost Jesus never used her real name before.  It made her feel icy when he was close.  She wished he would freeze her completely._

_“It’s bad now.  But it won’t be always.  It’s not your fault what happened.  Nobody blames you.”_

_“Not even–?” Dominique started to ask._

_“Nobody.  Trust me, okay?  I know a lot of things.”_

_“Am I ugly?” Dominique wondered.  He had to tell her the truth.  He just said he would._

_“I’m not too big on looks,” Jesus allowed._

_“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out._

_Jesus just shrugged._

_Dominique’s eyelids felt heavy._

_“You sleep.  I’ll keep watch,” Jesus insisted, stoic._

_“What if I have bad dreams?” she asked._

_“I’ll fight them off.  What are ghost-friends for?”_

_She couldn’t stay awake anymore.  Saw Jesus and his pink shoelaces the way they’d been in videos on the news.  Saw his sister with her matching ones.  As she drifted off, Dominique wondered if Jesus knew.  If his sister and him were still connected, even though it had been forever._

_And Jesus kept his promise.  Because Dominique never had one dream that night._


	15. Chapter 15

**_Scene VIII: Because I Knew You_   
**

Dominique never dreamed she’d be at the point in her life, ten years later, where she’s sitting across the table from real live Jesus as he sketches.  That this would be a regular thing they did, at least a couple times a week, if the weather held.

Looking at Jesus’s drawings has been fascinating and revealing.  Dominique loves nothing more than paging through them and analyzing them.  Telling him every single favorite aspect of all of them.  There are a lot.

Today, when she asks to see what he’s drawing, he surprises her:  “It’s kinda a weird day for me?”

“How so?” she wonders.

“Like…it’s the day thirteen years ago that…”

Just like that, it clicks.  September 7th.  The last day of the first week of third grade.  She remembered coming home in from playing outside the next day and hearing the news reports while she, Mom and Dad had dinner that night.  How her parents talked to her again about being aware of where she was.  Not giving directions if somebody she didn’t know asked her.  Not approaching anybody in a car, even if they knew her name.  Not taking a ride from anybody she wasn’t expecting to.

“You know,” Jesus says, matter of fact.

“I remember, yeah.  I saw the news the next night.”

But even Jesus going missing, even learning about and hearing new lectures about safety had not kept Dominique safe from the cool 19-year-old who loitered outside the community center where Dominique had cheerleading.  The girl that learned Dominique’s name, asked questions about the  _High School Musical_  characters and songs Dominique loved.  So that, a month later, when this girl was in tears, and needed a sitter for her kid…when she claimed she didn’t have a phone and asked to borrow Dominique’s…well, Dominique let her.

When she said they just lived around the corner, Dominique hadn’t even thought.  In her newly-eleven-year-old mind, she was helping out a friend.  But that girl wasn’t a friend.  Not even close.  Dominique learned that the hard way.  And she regularly blamed herself for not listening to her parents and getting into a car with someone she didn’t know.

“I hate this day,” Jesus says quietly.

“I can imagine,” Dominique breathes, not ready to reveal just how much she can relate.

“Do you ever feel like you’re the dumbest person on the face of the earth?”

“More than you know,” Dominique nods.

“Like you’re a horrible person?” Jesus checks.

“Yup,” Dominique nods.  “But if it were me?” she asks lightly.  “Would you blame me?  For being tricked?  By an adult?”

“No.  Not at all.  I just think we’re harder on ourselves.”

Dominique blows out air.  “Yeah.”

“He always told me I was stupid,” Jesus comments darkly.  “Everything else that he did and it’s that that sticks out the most.  It’s that that’s the hardest to fight.”

Dominique just listens.  She understands - deeply - but she stays silent.

“So, I usually draw  _stuff_ …” he ventures, changing the subject abruptly.  “Not people.”

“I noticed,” Dominique nods, easily going with Jesus as he veers.

“Well…” he shrugs, finally showing his sketchbook.

Dominique’s eyes widen.  Jesus has drawn their arms as they’d been resting against the grain of the table.  Her scarred one, covered by a Hermoine sweater and his bare forearm, two bracelets on his wrist.  His arm is lying one direction, and hers is facing opposite.  They aren’t close to touching.  And Dominique’s breath catches as she squints, seeing that Jesus didn’t ignore her scars.

He didn’t over-exaggerate them, as some artists might.  Jesus just saw them.  Documented them as a part of her.  She can’t explain it, but it makes her feel respected in a way she has not felt for many years.

“Do you hate it?” he asks, tentative.  “‘Cause I can rip it up.  Throw it out.  Nobody has to see it.”

Dudley’s at attention at Jesus’s side.  It’s like the dog’s tuned in to Jesus on a soul level.  Like he knows that if Jesus starts talking about destroying his art, Dudley ought to pay attention.

“No.  Please,” she says, before Dominique even knows she’s speaking.  “I mean…can I keep looking at it?  Do you mind?”

Jesus looks surprised but shakes his head no.  “Go ahead.  It’s fine with me,” he nods.

After a long silence, Dominique starts to speak.  “Middle school art class, we were assigned to do portraits of the person across from us.  It was a nightmare assignment for me, ‘cause my injuries made it hard to do anything like writing or drawing.  And this teacher we had was all about realism.  So I knew my drawing of this kid was gonna suck.”

“So, what happened?”

“Mine of the other kid got shown and nobody knew who it was supposed to be.  Some kid said, ‘Is that even a person?’ and the kid I drew denied it was supposed to be them at all.  And then the teacher showed the kid’s drawing of me…and there were no scars…  And part of me was happy.  ‘Cause the scars were new, and I was self-conscious as hell about them…but at the same time, I was like, keenly aware that, ‘That’s not me.’  Because this major part of me got left out…  I don’t know.  It was weird.”

Jesus swallows.  Reaches down to pull off bracelets from his right wrist and lays his arm against the table again.

Dominique sees right away what she’s meant to see: the brutal scars from years of being chained.  Studies them closely.  Doesn’t look away.

“I hate these,” he confides.  “Sometimes they actually hurt, which is so messed up…but if I showed them to somebody and they were like, ‘I don’t even see you like that,” it’d feel like  _What the hell_?  You’re not really  _seeing me_.”

“Right.  That’s what I’m saying.  I don’t love all this,” Dominique gestures vaguely to her scars.  “But it is a part of me.  It means something that you didn’t ignore that.  So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Sorry today sucks,” she offers.  “Need a cookie and a frozen hot chocolate?”

Jesus makes a face.  “Not really hungry.”

“Seriously.  Are you okay?”

He shrugs.  “I don’t feel like I can move.”

Dominique’s alarmed, but doesn’t show it.  “Dudley.  Help him.”

Dudley hasn’t left Jesus’s side, and is pulling at his leash.

“Let’s walk around,” Dominique suggests.  “You want to?”

“Yeah, but I feel stuck,” Jesus admits.

“You’re okay.  You’re with me and Dudley in Avoidance,” Dominique reassures.  Slowly, Jesus stands up and walks with Dudley.  Dominique at his side, not touching him.

“Too real?” she asks.

“It’s just today.  Sometimes it still feels really vivid.  Like I’m there.  And I don’t usually show my own scars, because they trigger me,” he allows.

“You didn’t have to show me, Jesus,” Dominique says, serious.

“I know.  I wanted to.”

“Even though?” she asks.

“Yeah.  It’s my choice.”

“Okay.  It is.  But, just saying, you don’t need to prove anything to me.  Solidarity or whatever.  I believe you, even if you never take your bracelets off.”

“Do you think I’m a dumbass?” he asks, shaky.

“Do you think  _I_  am?” she asks.  “Hypothetically.  Would  _you_  blame  _me_?”

“No,” he says, fast.  Sure.

“Because being tricked by an adult when you’re still a child is always on that adult.  Because they’re the ones who know better.”

“But my parents told me.  They warned me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dominique offers, feeling a chill over her body.  Wondering how that’s possible when Jesus is right here in front of her.  

“It’s hard to believe,” Jesus admits.  “And that feels so messed up because it’s been so long.”

“Not so long,” Dominique says softly.

“No?”

Dominique shakes her head.  “So why’d you decide to draw us?”

“Because people are hard.  Complex.  There are a million little details that go into drawing a person’s hands.  They’re super personal, but they’re also anonymous, so it’s not like it’d be outing us if anybody else saw this sketch.”

“You used to only draw stuff?” she checks.

“Yeah, until I met this really cool wizard.  Then things started to change.”

Dominique thinks back to her own words as Hermione to her mom, about hoping to do some good in the world.  She thinks it might be happening.  She holds her breath.  Finally, she can’t resist anymore and asks, timid:  “For the better, I hope?”

Jesus looks her in the eye.  “Definitely, for the better.”


	16. Chapter 16

**_Scene IX: Seize the Day_ **

It takes time for Dominique to get her courage up.  To talk to Mom.  It helps that in the meantime, she’s there and warm.  The texts had not stopped with Mom being sorry.  They had continued over days, thoughtfully elaborating in a way that helped Dominique come to terms with what had been going on:

_Mom:_

_To be honest, sweetie, I just didn’t know how to talk about it.  Especially because we were so discouraged by professionals to bring it up._

_Dominique:_

_Is it because you were embarrassed?  Ashamed of me?_

_Mom:_

_Not for one second.  Do you feel I ignore that part of you?_

_Dominique:_

_Kinda…by not talking about it…it kinda makes it feel like you and Dad are ashamed.  Like you’d rather I was normal._

_Mom:_

_Dominique, you are normal.  Trauma affects people.  Changes people.  It’s okay._

_Dominique:_

_Can you bring it up sometime then?  Talk about your feelings, so I can talk about mine?_

_Mom:_

_If that would help you, babe, I will, yes._

_Dominique:_

_Did you remember the anniversary?_

(Obviously, Dominique knows Mom did, but she has to test the waters.  See if Mom’s serious.)

_Mom:_

_Yes.  I was on edge all day.  You?_

_Dominique:_

_Why?_

_Mom:_

_I was remembering._

_Dominique:_

_What?_

_Mom:_

_Getting the call.  Going to the hospital.  Seeing you for the first time.  Being so relieved and at the same time so scared for you._

_Dominique:_

_I don’t remember the first time you saw me._

_Mom:_

_No, you were on a lot of medicine for pain._

_Dominique:_

_Did you think I was ugly?  Bad?_

_Mom:_

_Not ever.  I thought what happened to you with the men was ugly and bad.  But it didn’t make you ugly or bad._

_Dominique:_

_Can we stop?_

_Mom:_

_Yes.  I want you to know I do think about it, Dominique.  I haven’t talked about it because I never wanna hurt you._

_Dominique:_

_Well, it was my life.  Hard when you and Dad tiptoe around it.  Makes me ashamed._

_Mom:_

_We’ll get better about acknowledging it.  Not just with cake._

_Dominique:_

_But we can still have cake, right?  I think cake is fair, given what I came through.  I earned at least that much._

_Mom:_

_Babe, you don’t earn care.  Cake is an expression of our care for you.  That’s free._

_Dominique:_

_I like that there aren’t candles on it.  Or on birthday cakes.  Are you and Dad mad about that?  Do you want candles on your bday cakes?  Are you mad I make it so you can’t?_

_Mom:_

_Dom, when you get as old as Dad and me, no candles is a blessing._

_Dominique:_

_Are you mad, though?_

_Mom:_

_No.  We are not mad.  We don’t wanna do anything that scares you and we know those do.  We’re happy to steer clear of things that make you afraid._

_Dominique:_

_Maybe you think it’s too much trouble.  That I’m too much trouble._

_Mom:_

_No, I don’t.  It’s no trouble at all to make sure you have what you need to feel okay._

_Dominique:_

_Sorry I’m not listening._

_Mom:_

_You’re doing fine.  Do you feel heard by me?_

_Dominique:_

_Yes.  But what if it’s like a one-time thing?_

_Mom:_

_It’s not, because you made it clear to me that us not talking about it with you was not working for you._

_Dominique:_

_Can we do it like this?  Text it?_

_Mom:_

_Sure, if that’s what’s best for you._

_Dominique:_

_I think it is._

_Mom:_

_Okay then.  How are things going?  Dad said you met some twins?_

_Dominique:_

_Yeah.  Jesus and his sis._

_Mom:_

_Yeah?  How’s his sis?_

_Dominique:_

_She thinks Roberta is amazing._

_Mom:_

_Sounds like a keeper to me.  And you feeling okay w/ Jesus?_

_Dominique:_

_Yeah, mostly.  His sis came over once but he didn’t.  We just meet in public like you said._

_Mom:_

_Smart, I am proud of you, for trusting your gut._

_Dominique:_

_I have to go.  Night Mom. I love you._

_Mom:_

_I love you, babe.  Always.  Let me know if you need anything._

_Dominique:_

_Like what?_

_Mom:_

_Like anything._

_Dominique:_

_Okay._

The next time she sees Mom, it’s hard.  She’s afraid things will be different.  Bad.  But Mom treats her the same as always - warm, kind, gentle - it helps knowing that none of those things went away because Dominique told the truth about what she needed.

She doesn’t share anything about her conversations with Jesus because that’s not Mom’s business, but she does share the picture of Dudley, which Mom loves.  “He is such a cute dog!  He makes me want one!”

“I don’t know what kind he is…” Dominique ventures.  

“No, I’m not sure, either,” Mom says.

They’re out walking around, because Dominique’s apartment is an epic mess.  Even with Lena’s help, it can build up over a few days, and even though Mom says she loves her, Dominique’s not so sure she’ll stick to that if she sees how she lives.  (Even though they used to live at home together, that’s beside the point.)

A mother pushing a toddler in a stroller pass them on the sidewalk.

“Mommy, what’s wrong with her face?” the boy asks, pointing.  The mom blushes and looks mortified.  Wants to hurry past them, but it’s not possible because Dominique is frozen in place in their path.

“You okay if I take this, babe?” Mom comments softly.

Imperceptibly, Dominique nods.  She feels so exposed without a costume on.  She should have changed into one after work.  Not stuck with sweats.

“My name is Jaimie, and this is my daughter,” Mom introduces, looking right at the boy.  “Nothing’s wrong with her face.  You wanna know why?”

The boy whines and tries to hide his face.

“‘Cause everybody’s different.  My daughter’s skin got hurt.  People have lots of things that are different about them.  And lots of things that are the same.”

“I’m so sorry,” the boy’s mom apologizes to Dominique’s mom.

Dominique’s mom stands again, at Dominique’s side, proud.  “I’m not.”

The boy’s mom takes his stroller through the grass to get around them, desperate to get away.  Dominique still can’t move.  Can’t raise her eyes from the ground.

Mom blows out a breath.  “That sucked.”

“Yeah, well, it happens.  Maybe every other time I go out.”

Mom bristles.

“You didn’t get me out of their way…” Dominique observes, finally raising her eyes.

“You’re not in the way.  You’re not the problem, Dom.  They were rude.  Let them stand with it and be a little uncomfortable.  Maybe next time, that boy and his mother will think twice before they comment about somebody’s looks.”

“Everybody thinks it’s their right to know…”

“It’s not.”

“You told that boy my skin got hurt,” Dominique points out.

“I did.  Would you rather I handled it differently?”

“When you said nothing’s wrong, that was good,” Dominique admits.

“Okay, so leave it at that next time?”

“Yeah.  I mean if you think it’s true.  That nothing’s wrong.”

“I know it’s true.”

“Hey, Dominique!”

She glances around to place the familiar voice, and takes in Mariana in the distance, approaching by herself.  It’s strange seeing her alone.  Like part of her is missing.  She wants to ask where Jesus is, but doesn’t want it to seem like she isn’t happy to see Mariana, which she is.  She’s wearing black leggings and a pink shirt with a gold crown on it.  Dominique has the feeling that Mariana and Roberta are similarly fancy.  No wonder Mariana loves her so much.

“Hey, Mariana,” Dominique smiles.  “This is my mom, Jaimie.  Mom, Mariana.”

“Hi,” Mariana waves.

“Nice to meet you,” Mom greets happily.  “You know, I went to school with some twins–”

“Mom,” Dominique protests.

“What?  Their names were Royal and Rozariah.”

“She doesn’t know them, Mom.”

“Sorry,” Mariana apologizes, amused.  “Hey, Dominique…  Can Roberta come out?”

“She’s not an outdoor cat,” Dominique apologizes.  “And my place is kinda a disaster today.”

“So you wanna go to Avoidance and hang out?” Mariana asks.

“Ooh.  Where’s Avoidance?” Mom asks.

“It’s nowhere,” Dominique insists.

“Okay,” Mom relents lightly.  “I can take a hint.  Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mariana.  And you,” she turns to Dominique. “I love you.  Call or text if you need anything.”

“I will.” Dominique promises.  “Bye, Mom.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**_Scene X: Ain’t It a Fine Life_ **

Dominique and Mariana take their time getting to Avoidance.  They walk side by side, and Dominique finds herself offering a hand in moments when Mariana seems unsteady.  It’s not something she’s used to doing.  Not something she’d ever do, usually.  But it’s different with Mariana. Dominique can’t put her finger on why exactly.

They get to the table and sit.  Mariana needs a few minutes to just sit, but finally, she says:

“I like your mom.”

“Yeah?  She’s pretty great,” Dominique nods.

“She seems to get you,” Mariana observes.

“Yours don’t?”

Mariana shrugs, and it’s so like Jesus that Dominique does a double take.  “Not really, no.  I’m not sure if they ever did?  For sure, not anymore…”

“Why not anymore?” Dominique asks.

“I was in a car accident six months ago,” Mariana confides.  “So…a lot changed.  I used to be, like, super smart.  I was in college to be a legal advocate for kids in the system.  Now, I struggle with some really basic stuff.  It feels like Moms don’t respect me anymore.”

Dominique just listens.

“It’s like, yeah, I have a head injury. It did actually change me.  But it doesn’t….”

“What are you going for?” Dominique asks.  “I’ll help you.”

“…Like, I’m still a person.  I still deserve respect.”

“Right.  It changed  _you_ , but it didn’t change  _that_ ,” Dominique fills in.

Mariana nods.

“I was in an accident, too, about ten years ago…” Dominique confesses.  “Different injuries obviously, but if you ever need to talk about it?  I do get it.”

“It’s hard to talk to Jesus about it,” Mariana confesses.  “Because it was really hard on him.  I was his emergency contact.  So he was the one that got the call.”

Dominique winces.  “Yeah, I was actually at the hospital, working, the night he came in looking for you…”

“Really?  Did you guys know each other then?”

“No.  We met after that,” Dominique admits.  “I honestly don’t even think he saw me that night.  And it hasn’t really come up in conversation…  Anyway.  You guys can’t talk about this?”

“Yeah.  Kinda the same way we never really could talk about Jesus’s stuff.  Because we had such opposite experiences.  Instead of sharing everything, like we usually do.  So it made it really hard to relate.  And now?  We have this other thing…”

“…That makes it really hard to relate,” Dominique nods.

“Right.  And we’re best friends.  Soul mates.  All that.  But there are these major things we can’t talk to each other about.”

“Well, I know I’m not in with y’all’s twinness, but if either one of you need somebody to talk to about your stuff.  I’m here.”

“Thanks.  And if you need to talk about anything, you can talk to me, too.  I know we don’t know each other that well.  But if you ever need a friend, or need help with something, you can call,” Mariana offers.

Dominique nods, but knows deep down it’ll take a lot for her to open up, especially to someone new.  Mariana’s nice, and niceness always puts Dominique on edge.  Because that’s been used so often to earn Dominique’s trust and then used against her.  She’s trying to widen her world, little by little, and having Jesus and Mariana in it has been a good thing so far, but it’s also scary.

Trust takes time.  It’s been ten years, and she’s still struggling to trust her parents, especially her Dad.  It’s not their fault.  Just how it is.

“Is it weird being without your brother?” Dominique asks before she can think better of it.

Mariana squints.

“Sorry, I guess I’ve only ever seen y’all together.”

“Oh.  Right.  It’s not really weird, to be honest.  We spent a long time apart,” Mariana pauses, looks down at the grain of the table.  Then glances up at Dominique.  “Jesus said you knew?”

“Yeah.  The news.”

“Right,” Mariana breathes.  “So anyway, it does feel different without him.  Kind of…emptier?  But it’s also a feeling I’m used to, I guess?”

“So not a good feeling?” Dominique wonders.

“Not really, no.  Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asks.

“Nope.  Just me and Roberta,” Dominique smiles.  

“You can be our triplet.  You know that show where they adopt the third baby, when they were pregnant with triplets?  You could be our adopted triplet.”

Dominique shakes her head.  “No.  We don’t have the same birthday.  Mine’s October.”

“So, more presents,” Mariana brightens.  “See, this triplet thing is working out already!”

“I don’t know why you’d want me as a triplet when you have so many brothers and sisters already…” she ventures.

“Well, maybe that  _is_  why,” Mariana reasons.  “In a family like ours, there’s always room for more.”

“So, did my parents adopt you and Jesus or vice versa?  ‘Cause the way you and Jesus describe your moms, I don’t think I could deal with them.”

“Sure, Jesus and I can be adopted by your parents,” Mariana laughs.

“They’d recognize that you’re smart.  That you deserve respect,” Dominique says, serious now.

“I hope so,” Mariana sighs.  “It’d be nice.  At least someone’s parents would see that…”

“Your parents…” Dominique smiles.  

“So…how do you think they’re gonna feel knowing they have a bonus daughter and son?”

“I think they’d love you,” Dominique says, sure.  “Except you’d be subjected to my dad’s relentless questions about whether you have twin telepathy and hearing about every set of twins my mother has ever known.”

Mariana laughs.  “It’s fine.  It’s fun being a twin and answering questions about it.”

“A triplet now,” Dominique reminds.

“Right.  I have to get used to having another sister,” Mariana says, soft.

“Listen, it’s fun to joke about this, but we barely know each other.  You may not want to claim me as family once you know more…”

“Give us a chance, Dominique,” Mariana says.

“To reject me?” she counters, before Dominique can think twice about it.

There’s a long pause and then Mariana speaks again.  “You know, it’s like that for me, too?  Being adopted, there’s always this massive hole inside you and no matter what happens…you always have that rejection.”

“Not the same.  My parents are my parents.  Biologically.  It’s the other stuff,” Dominique maintains.

“I just meant, I get the fear…”

“Okay.  Can I ask you something?” Dominique asks.  “Honestly?”

“Of course.” Mariana answers.

“Do you tell Jesus everything?  Does he tell you everything?  Like, when you see him, will you tell him everything I talked to you about?  Has he told you what I talked to him about?”

“I mean…we do usually tell each other a lot.  But he hasn’t mentioned much about you.  But we do talk about the time the three of us hang out.  And I don’t usually download what I talk to my girlfriends about with him.”

“But would you?  Will you?  ‘Cause I’d like to know what I say to you stays with you.  And what I say to him stays with him.  I don’t like people talking about me.”

“We wouldn’t if you don’t want us to.  If we talk about you, it’s remembering fun times when we all hung out together so far.  And we can definitely keep it like that.  Do your parents ask about us?”

“My dad had a million questions about you being twins.  My mom recognizes Jesus from the news…”

“Ah, so maybe knowing they’ve adopted the Jesus Foster of San Diego’s a little daunting?” Mariana jokes.

“Sometimes you keep the Adams, sometimes not?” Dominique asks.

“Well, back then, our moms weren’t married.  Mom was the legal parent.  It wasn’t until after Jesus got back that she and Mama could be married, and she could legally adopt all of us.”

“That sucks,” Dominique observes.

Mariana shrugs.

“When you do that?  It’s just like your brother,” Dominique says, smiling.

“Yeah.  Twin thing.”

“So cool,” Dominique can’t resist saying.  “Glad you guys wanna hang out.”

“Well, it’s mutual.”  

“So you guys never had a dad before?”

“Technically we did, but we didn’t know him.  We found out in high school that he’d gone to jail.  Jesus met him, but it turned out that he didn’t know the first thing about being a dad and didn’t really ever want us in the first place.”

“Damn.  And your mom?”

“She didn’t know the first thing about being a mom,” Mariana says, her face darkening.

“You remember her?” Dominique checks.

“I remember her not being there,” Mariana allows.

Dominique cringes.

“Dads can be awesome.  So can Moms.  It’s just the trust that’s hard.  Takes a long time to build.  But nobody’s perfect.”

“You can say that again,” Mariana sighs.

“But it’s okay to be imperfect in Avoidance,” Dominique reveals.

“Oh.  Well, thank God,” Mariana laughs.  “We know I’m in the right place then.”

“You are, though.  You really are.”


	18. Chapter 18

**_Scene XI: Just You Wait_   
**

It’s nice to feel like she has siblings.  Being an only child wasn’t lonely for Dominique.  Not before.  She liked having her parents to herself.  But lately, it’s gotten more isolating.  Harder to trust.  It helps to have people her own age to hang out with.

She finds Jesus in the laundry room with Dudley and Val one Wednesday.  It’s not Dominique’s favorite place either.  Lena had accompanied her down here just to help carry some of the stuff, but Dominique tells her she can take it from here.

“Hey,” she offers, once Lena’s back on the elevator heading back to Dominique’s.

Jesus’s eyes dart to hers.  Back to the pair of washing machines.  “You go,” he says.  “I can wait.”

“Jesus, you’re almost there,” Val encourages, her voice steady.  “You have this.”

“No.  I’m done.  I can’t,” he protests.  He’s pale.  Breathing fast.  Dudley’s at attention at his side, standing close.

Dominique steps in front of him.  “You know, your sister said I got to be y’all’s triplet?” she offers.

Jesus just keeps breathing shallowly.

“So, even though I don’t really feel like family to both of you yet, I’m willing to be family to you for this.”

“Don’t,” he begs, like Dominique’s hurting him.  “You say that to people who are stuck.  Who don’t have any hope.  And I can do this.”

“You can,” Dominique echoes, sure.  “And you might say that to people who don’t have any hope, but I say it because it’s true.  You’ve got me for this.  Okay?”

Jesus nods.

“You wanna keep going?” she checks.

Jesus nods again.

“Okay.  What step are you on?” she asks, though she can plainly see the quarters on the washing machine, untouched.  The machines silent.

“I need to put the money in,” he manages, “but that’s the awful part.  The sound.”

“Okay, so how about this?  You choose me or Val to put the money in, and the other one of us will head out of here with you before the sound starts up?”

“I need to do this.  That’s the whole point,” he argues.

“You’ve gotten a little farther each time we do this,” Val offers.  “Farther today than last week.  It’s okay to recognize your limits.”

“But I’m scared I never will…”

“So what?” Val challenges gently.  “So, you need somebody to put quarters in washing machine for you and wait for you to leave before they do it?  That’s okay.  That’s you recognizing your own limit.  I don’t mind putting money in for you.  It’s still your money.  It’s still your clothes.  You can still work on coming back for them when they’re washed or maybe when they’re dried.”

“But normal people can do laundry,” he objects.

“I can’t…” Dominique allows.  “Sometimes it trips me up.  Parts of it, you know?  Does that mean I’m not normal?”

“No…but…”

“Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is ask for help,” Dominique says softly, looking him resolutely in the eyes.

He clears his throat, and turns to Val.  “Val, um…  Do you mind starting the washing machine once Dominique and I are out of here?”

“Nope.  I don’t mind at all.  Do you want to swing back by in half an hour to an hour or so, or would you rather take it easy today with the laundry?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?  Yeah, take it easy?” Val guesses.

Jesus nods.

“Okay.  Sounds good.  I got this.  You guys go,” Val reassures.

“Come on, Triplet,” Dominique urges.

Jesus offers a weak smile and follows her onto the elevator.  She’s afraid he might collapse while he’s on it.  But he just sinks to a squat and Dudley licks his face.  “I’m such a failure.”

Dominique’s struck silent.  She can’t think of a single word to say.  She’s not the chatty little girl she used to be with all the right answers.  This is real life, and she has no idea what to say to Jesus in this moment.  He’s not her invisible friend, an extension of herself, a coping mechanism.  He is his own person, and he’s struggling.  

Finally, the door opens, and Dominique gets off.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

Heaving a sigh, Jesus stands up and follows her.  They walk first to get frozen hot chocolates and snacks and then sit at Avoidance together.  Jesus is quiet.  Not touching anything.

“Your hot chocolate’s gonna melt.”

“Let it,” he insists, voice heavy.

“Jesus, you are not a failure.  My apartment?  Looks like a tornado blew through it.  Every single day.  Lena comes like twice a week to help me maintain it.  Without her, I’d definitely be evicted for housekeeping reasons, okay?”

“So what’s your point?”

“My point is, you’re not alone with this crap.  We’ve all got it.  Okay?  I don’t think less of you because Val put quarters in a machine for you.  Big deal.”

“It is.”

“According to who?” she challenges, eyes flashing.

“Him,” Jesus says, not breaking eye contact.

“Okay.  I’m gonna need a bit more information.  Him-who?”

“Him.  The guy.  You know.”

“The guy who took you,” Dominique realizes.  “So, it’s a big deal for him that you need help with laundry.  What do you mean by that?”

“He’d say it’s stupid.  That I’m a dumbass.”

“But it’s not, and you’re not.  They are valid reasons you need help.  And I’m pretty sure he’s behind them,” Dominique ventures.

“That’s true,” Jesus breathes, finally reaching for his frozen hot chocolate.  “He’s the reason I hate hearing laundry being done…  The first time I tried to do it here, I couldn’t even get off the elevator on the second floor because somebody was in there doing theirs.”

“And now, look.  You got off the elevator.  You got the laundry soap in.  You loaded your clothes.”

“Yeah, it’s only taken eight months…”

“So?” she insists.  “There’s no timer counting down here.  Your life’s not under threat.  There’s time.  Besides if you pushed yourself to do all of that the very first day?  What do you think would happen?”

“I’d die,” he says seriously.

“Not literally, but it’d be a lot, yeah.”

“Too much,” Jesus confirms.

“Right.  So you’re taking your time.  That’s not stupid.  That’s smart,” Dominique smiles gently.  

“My favorite of your costumes is that one,” he confides, and Dominique glances down at herself, dressed in Tiana’s yellow dress.  “And I’m glad Mariana said you could be our triplet.”

“You’ve got a lot of sisters, though.”

Jesus shakes his head, sure.  “Can never have enough.  Besides, I’m pretty sure there’s only one of you.”

Dominique hesitates, touched, then plunges ahead.  “Would you and Mariana like to come for dinner at home sometime?  Meet Mom and Dad?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jesus jokes.  “I still haven’t met your cat.”

“Well, that can be arranged,” Dominique offers, a strange lilt to her voice that creeps in before she even knows it.

“I have a hard time…with dudes…” Jesus confesses.

Dominique breathes.  This is different.  He doesn’t wanna use her.  He’s just making conversation.  It’s all okay.  

“He won’t take it personally.  He’s cool.  We can leave whenever one of us wants to.  Or we don’t have to do it at all.”  She manages, the vestiges of her time in the life falling away again.  

Jesus sharing his discomfort around men is actually helping her.  It’s helping her remember they are similar.  He’s not her pimp.  Not a john.  He survived his own situation like her, has his own fears, like her.

“Let me check with Mariana.  You check with your parents.  Then we can see…” he ventures.

“Hey so…are you gonna draw something today?” Dominique asks.

Jesus puts his sketchbook on the table, facing her.  There’s a stunning picture of her, in profile, hair blowing in the breeze.  Her burned side.  But Jesus has captured it in a way that makes Dominique feel seen, not exploited.  He’s captured detail in a way that suggests he respects everything that makes her  _her_.  The opposite of the kid in art class who ignored her scars altogether.

“You’re drawing people, not stuff,” she chokes.

Jesus nods.  “I am.”

“Why me?”  (She wants to say: “It’s beautiful.  Why would you draw me that way?” but the words won’t come out how she means them.)

Even so, Jesus just shrugs and asks gently, “Why  _not_  you?”


	19. Chapter 19

**_Scene XII: Stars in Our Eyes_ **

It turns out, Mom and Dad are totally here for Jesus and Mariana to come and have dinner.  She texts both of them to check if Friday night will work okay, and both text back enthusiastic yeses.

It’s Friday during the day when Dad texts:

_Anything the twins don’t eat?_

Dominique doesn’t wait.  Just walks across the hall to Jesus’s door and knocks.  “Hey, it’s Dominique.  Dad wants to know what  _the twins_ don’t eat.”

“What?” Jesus asks, pulling open the door.  His hair’s a curly mess.

Dominique shows him her phone.

“Oh.  Pizza’s a no for me.  And Ramen.  Those are the two big ones.”

“Okay.  Good to know.  Should I text Mariana or call her?” Dominique asks.

“Maybe call?” Jesus allows.

“Okay.  See you later tonight.  We’ll take our own cars, but you and Mariana can just follow me there.  Is that cool?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Dominique heads back to her place and Roberta jumps into her lap.  

“We’re gonna call Mariana,” Dominique says.

When Mariana picks up, she sounds groggy.  “Hey.”

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“I was napping, but it’s fine.  What’s up?”

“Dad’s wondering if there’s anything you don’t eat.”

“I used to be anti a lot…but now Moms are pretty much insisting I eat everything.  They say I’m too skinny…” Mariana scoffs.  “Not hungry’s more like it…”

“Anything sound good?” Dominique wonders, sympathetic.

“My brother, Jude, used to make this really good lasagna, but he’s in college now, too, and we haven’t had it in a while.  Oh my God, how selfish can you be, Mariana?  You know what?  Never mind.  I’m a guest at your house.  Have your dad make whatever he was planning.”

“What were you anti?” Dominique checks.

“Red meat, mostly.  But don’t go to any trouble.  I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Dominique agrees.  “You sleep.  See ya tonight.”

“You can’t tell ‘cause I’m exhausted, but I’m excited…” Mariana insists.

“Me, too,” Dominique agrees.

As soon as she hangs up, Dominique gets on Facebook.  She’s not asked Jesus or Mariana to be Facebook friends yet but it’s not hard to find Jude Adams Foster.  There’s one.  20 years old.  A college student at UCSD ironically - the actual university not the hospital.

She sends him a message:

_Hey.  I know this is weird, but I’m friends with your brother and sister.  (Jesus and Mariana).  Mariana mentioned a lasagna recipe she likes that you make.  Do you have that?  Can I have it?  They’re coming for dinner tonight._

In two minutes a link comes her way, along with the note that he uses ground turkey in place of beef.

_Jude:_

_Tell them I said hi.  I’m so jealous._

_Dominique:_

_Will do.  Thank you!_

She forwards the recipe and the note about ground turkey to Dad.  He’ll love the ground turkey thing.  He’s on this healthy eating kick, so this will fit right in with that.

_Dad:_

_Lasagna.  Okay.  Now we’re cooking.  Now we are cooking._

_Dominique:_

_It’s the recipe their little bro uses.  I think they miss it._

_Dad:_

_Dad to the rescue. <3 you babe.  Excited to meet your friends._

–

After a weird four-hour shift at the hospital, Dominique’s home at 2:30 and has a little downtime before heading out at 4:45.  Dad likes to eat at 5 PM and rumor has it (thanks to a later text from Mariana), so does Jesus.  So she’s gonna do  her best to keep to the intended schedule.

At 4:30 she walks across the hall again and knocks.  “Hey, it’s Dominique.  You gonna go get Mariana?”

“Yes, I’m on my way,” Jesus says, opening the door and blowing past her, Dudley hot on his heels.  “Be back in plenty of time.”

“Drive time’s fifteen minutes,” Dominique calls.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, bye,” she calls.

Dominique spends the time Jesus is gone coaxing Roberta into her carrier.  Roberta doesn’t trust it.

“Listen, I promise.  If you get in it, we’ll go home to see Mom and Dad.  You miss them, right?”

Roberta doesn’t move until Dominique comes toward her.  Then, she bolts faster than Dominique’s seen her move in a while.

“I am not chasing you.  If you don’t get in, then you can’t come.”

Roberta eyes her from under a chair.

“ _Five-hundred twenty-five-thousand six-hundred minutes_ ,” Dominique sings quietly.  “ _Five-hundred twenty-five-thousand moments so dear_.”  A few more lines of  _Seasons of Love_  and Roberta has relented.  She gets in the carrier and is happy as long as Dominique keeps the concert going.

Jesus arrives back in plenty of time, and Dominique pulls out of the parking lot, leading  the way.  While she’s working her way through the entire soundtrack of  _RENT_ , she’s also worrying.  She’d made a very calculated decision to go costume-free tonight, and she hopes to God that she doesn’t hear about it from her parents.

It’s too late for second guessing, though.

They pull into the driveway, and Dominique gets out and walks to the back door to get Roberta.  She waits for Mariana, Jesus and Dudley to catch up, and they walk inside together.

“Hey,” Dominique calls.  “We’re here for family dinner.”

“Hey!” Mom responds, like she didn’t just see Dominique and Mariana earlier this week.  “Mom, you know Mariana.  This is Jesus and Dudley.”

“So nice to meet both of you,” Mom smiles.

“I hope it’s okay to bring him.  He’ll behave, and Dominique said it was okay…”

“Oh, it’s totally okay.  We love animals. He’s a beautiful dog.  What breed is he?”

“A lab-beagle mix, I think?” Jesus ventures.  “We’re not sure.  He started as a shelter dog, so we don’t know much about him.”

“Hey, hey!” Dad calls.  “Who’s hungry?”

Jesus raises his hand.  Mariana doesn’t, but perks up when they sit down at the table.

“That lasagna.  It looks like Jude’s…” she ventures.

“And it smells like Jude’s….” Jesus confirms.

Dominique’s letting a yowling Roberta out of her carrier.  The second she does, the cat hisses at Dudley.  Dudley cowers.

“Oh, my God, Roberta.  You can share this house with another animal for one night,” Dominique reprimands.  

Mariana’s smiling and still looking tired.  Jesus is checking out the lasagna.  Her parents briefly bow their heads and pray silently.  Mariana, Jesus and Dominique wait. It’s awkward.

“Thanks for waiting,” Mom offers.

Dad cuts the lasagna and puts a big piece on Jesus’s plate.  “For Jesus…”

“Mariana, babe, how big a piece you want?” Mom asks.

“It  _is_  Jude’s by the way,” Dominique confides.  “He may have sent us the recipe when he found out who we were having over for dinner…” she smiles.

“Oh, my gosh, no way!” Mariana’s whole face lights up.  “In that case, I will take…this row.  Just kidding.  A small piece is fine.”

“I kept exactly to the recipe.  Ground turkey, not beef,” Dad reassures.

“You guys, I could cry…” Mariana laughs.

Jesus is already digging in.  “Mmmm…”

“Dominique?  How big a piece?” Dad checks.

“Like, half of the slab you gave Jesus will be fine.”

“All righty then…” Dad cuts her a piece and finally serves Mom and then himself.

“This is awesome. Thank you,” Jesus insists, having swallowed.

“Yes, thank you.  We haven’t had this since…”

“Since you went to college.” Jesus fills in.

“Right.”

“So, what do you kids do for fun?”

“Hang out with Dominique,” Jesus says, immediately.

“Yeah?” Mom asks.  “What do you do together?”

“Get frozen hot chocolates.  Have picnics,” Jesus offers.

“She’s our triplet,” Mariana adds.

“Honey, will you look at that?  We got ourselves some bonus children….” Mom ventures, beaming.

“What’d we do right?” Dad asks.

Dominique rolls her eyes but is secretly very happy.

“What do we do to commemorate this - our first night as a family of five?” Dad asks.

“The only thing we ever do,” Dominique fills in.  “Eat.  Also take pictures sometimes.  And Jesus draws. Can I show them the sketch you did of me?” Dominique asks, glad she’d asked Jesus to send her a picture of it later.

“Sure, if you want,” he nods.

Dominique finds the picture and shows it to Mom first.  Her breath catches.  “Jesus, baby, this is gorgeous.  You really captured everything I love about my girl.  Michael, look at this,” she offers the phone to Dad.

“Wow,” is all he says.

Mariana’s beaming, proud, when Mom asks, “And what about you, Mariana?  What do you do for fun?”

“Hang out at the hospital.  Therapy.  You know.  The usual,” she offers.

“That’s not fun, Mari,” Jesus points out.

“Yeah, but I pretty much have zero time for hobbies now, unless you count napping.  I am an epic napper.”

“That’s a good skill,” Michael approves.  “And not one everybody possesses.”

“You sing,” Jesus offers, quiet.

“Yeah, but not for a while…” Mariana insists softly.

“Wait.  You sing?” Dominique asks.  “How do I not know this about you?”

“I used to,” Mariana allows.

“Our fam’s pretty much all ridiculously musically talented…except for me…” Jesus shares.  “Seriously, go to our brother, Brandon’s YouTube channel and look up  _Wintersong_.  You’ll see.”

“Do not do that,” Mariana warns.

“What?  They wanna hear you sing.”

“They wanna eat their dinner.  Right?” Mariana asks.

“We wanna do both,” Dominique confirms.  “Please?”  (Her parents are nodding eagerly, too.  Sometimes Dominique loves the hell out of them.  She’s lucky.)

“There  _is_  this one song I remember from  _Grey’s_ …”  Mariana pauses, clearing her throat and begins:  “ _I will show you love like you’ve never loved before.  I will go the distance and back for more if you just say the word_ …”

In no time, Dominique has found a harmony line and is humming along.  It’s enough for her and Mariana to lock eyes across the table.  For Mariana to keep singing for the entire first verse.

“Why didn’t you tell me you sing?” both ask, in unison as soon as they stopped singing.

“Triplets,” Jesus calls, a big smile on his face.  

“Mariana, you have a gift.  Dominique, babe we love getting to hear you sing, whenever we’re lucky enough.  Your voices are so beautiful together,” Mom gushes.

Mariana’s blushing and ducking her head.  And before they know it, she’s crying.  Jesus is out of his chair and around the table to comfort her.

Dominique sends a look to her Mom, alarmed.

“I’m fine,” Mariana insists.  “I just…never thought I’d do that again.  Feel that again.  Be able to sing with anybody.  And have it be….that feeling.”

Dominique gets out of her chair, too.  Comes around to Mariana’s other side and wraps an arm around her.  “I’ll sing with you anytime you want…”

“Really?” Mariana asks, shaky, but smiling.

“Yeah.  More likely, just start singing and I’ll join in…” Dominique smiles.

“Mariana sandwich,” Jesus teases gently, squeezing her.

“Thanks…” Mariana breathes looking at Jesus and Dominique in turn.  “For getting this.”

“We do,” Jesus says softly.

“Yeah,” Dominique echoes.  “We do.”


	20. Chapter 20

**_Scene XIII: Awesome, Wow_ **

When Mom and Dad bring out dessert, Jesus’s whole face lights up.  

“Wait.  Is that coffee cake?” he asks.

“Raspberry streusel, made by Yours Truly,” Dad says.

Mom’s been up clearing the table with Dad and Dominique.  She caught sight of Jesus standing to help and heard Mariana whispering, “You okay?” to him briefly before he nodded and joined them to help, too.  Mariana stacked dishes from the table, collecting them all at her place so whoever came around to collect them would only have to stop one place.

There’s coffee brewing, and Mom’s bringing out cups.  “Anybody up for coffee with our coffee cake?” she asks.

“Actually, we’re fans of hot chocolate…” Dominique ventures.  (Maybe Mom and Dad have some packaged stuff around.)

“I got you.  I’ve got this fancy chocolate ‘cause I baked a chocolate cake and had a bunch leftover,” Mom produces a package of gourmet unsweetened baking cocoa.

“Do you also have vanilla extract?” Jesus asks as he passes through to the kitchen with dishes.

“We do,” Mom nods.

“Would you mind if I made us some?  A friend gave me this great recipe years ago and I haven’t had a good excuse to make it in a long time.”

“Sure,” Mom agrees.

“Jesus?”  Mariana calls.  

“I’m okay,” he reassures.  

Dominique exchanges a look with her parents.  She has no idea what’s up.  Stops by the table where Mariana still sits.  “Need something?” Dominique asks as Mariana cranes her neck to better see Jesus in the kitchen.  “I can get you a chair.  You can sit out there by him,” Dominique offers.

“Yeah.  Could you?” Mariana asks.

But Mom’s already on it, as Dad’s busy cutting the coffee cake.

The kitchen’s full, with Jesus, Mariana and Dudley.  Mom’s at the sink washing dishes, and Dominique offers to help.  Mom hands things off for her to load.  When Dad’s done seeing to his cake, he’s out here, too.

“Anybody good at Tetris?” he wonders.

“At what?” Jesus and Mariana chorus.

“Tetris.  It’s what I gotta play every time I wanna fit leftovers in my fridge.”

“Honey, why don’t you send some home with the kids?”

“Right, yes.  Lets send you kids home with some of Jude and Michael’s Famous Lasagna.”

Mariana giggles.

“I don’t know how Jude would feel about suddenly having a co-chef…” Jesus ventures.

“I don’t think Dad is a co-chef,” Dominique points out, smiling.

“Hey.  He shared his recipe with me, didn’t he?  That’s a sign of trust.”

Dominique watches as he loads up three Tupperware containers with lasagna.  Afterward, Dad’s scrutinizing the pan.  “Now, I have less lasagna, but the same problem.”  He stares at the packed fridge for a long time before carefully moving some things around.  Then, he slides the pan into place.

“There we go.  That, ladies and gentleman, is how to Dad.”

Dominique smirks.  “So you’re basically saying that lasagna’s your baby then?”

“It is.  It’s my food baby.  Right?” Dad looks at Mom.

Dominique steps back into the dining room.  She wipes the table down a second time and tries to breathe.  

Roberta jumps on a chair and sniffs Dad’s coffee cake.  

“No way. Not for you,” Dominique tells her quietly.

Finally, though, everyone’s back around the table.  Jesus with cups of hot chocolate for himself, Mariana and Dominique.  Mom and Dad bring out their own coffees.

“Mr. Williams, this coffee cake is better than what’s served at the coffee shop with the douchey barista,” Jesus insists.

“Please, call me Michael.  And thanks so much.  I’m touched.”

Dominique sips her hot chocolate and her eyes light up.  “Wow. This.  This is…wow.”

“Good, right?” Mariana asks knowingly.

“Ooh, is there more?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, a bit.  You want me to get it?” Jesus asks.

“No thank you, I’ve got it.  Thanks for sharing.” Mom says and goes out to top her coffee off with some of Jesus’s hot chocolate.

“You’re ruining it,” Dominique calls.  “You can’t mess with the flavor, Mom.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”  Mom apologizes laughing.  

They all laugh as she gets a spoon from the silverware drawer and samples some right out of the pan on the stove.

“Oh my…Jesus, how many talented chefs you got in your family?” Mom asks.

Jesus ducks his head, blushing.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t tell Jude…” Mariana says.  “He has a big enough head as it is…”

“Are you guys close?  To Jude?  Dominique wonders.

“Kinda?” Jesus allows.  “Mostly, we’re close to each other.”

“How many brothers and sisters?” Mom asks.

“Four besides us,” they chorus together.

Dominique can’t help the smile that creeps over her face.  “That’s cute.”

“Yeah, well, pretty soon you’ll be doing it too, Triplet,” Mariana insists.

“Oh God,” Dominique laughs.

“Your parents must be busy.” Dad offers.

“Not as much now.  Less of us at home,” Jesus fills in.

“So, Mariana, are you ever gonna move to Gateway?  Maybe in with Jesus?” Dominique suggests.  

She shrugs, looking exhausted and a little defeated.  “I mean…that was never really the plan.  I’m supposed to be helping people.”

“ _I_  help people,” Jesus offers.

“I know, but I went to college for it and cost Moms a ton of money.  And now I’m just stuck living with them.  Probably forever.”

“Do you feel understood by your parents?” Mom asks Mariana and she glances up, surprised.

“Not really.  No.”

“That’s got to make it hard to share space with them then.” Mom muses.

“Yeah, it does.  Now I know how Jesus felt…”

Dominique isn’t quite sure what that last part meant, but neither of them elaborate so they leave it alone.

Before long, Mom’s sharing stories about growing up with four sisters and Dad about his family.  It comes up, as it does usually, that he’s adopted.

“You are?  Really?” Mariana asks.  

“I am,” Dad says.

“Me and Jesus are, too,” she comments, quiet.

“I think he knows,” Jesus says gently.

“You’re welcome to share whatever you want to share with us.  We wanna hear it.  We wanna hear what’s important to you.”

“It’s just…they adopted us…” Mariana starts.  “But…”

“…They’re not adopted,” Jesus finishes when it’s clear Mariana’s stuck for a word.  “So they get it from their side, but not from ours.”

“Right,” Dad says.  

“Did you fit in?  You know?  With your family?”

“No.  Not really,” Dad assures.

“Did you miss your birth parents?”

“It was more like a hole,” Dad shares.  “Where they should be, but no one was.  Even though I had parents.  I knew that somewhere out there I had ones that looked like me.  My mom and dad and all my immediate family my whole life was white.”

“One of our moms is white,” Jesus shares.  “And so are most of our siblings.  Nobody in our family’s Mexican but us.”

“It’s a tough thing.  Looking like family and feeling connected to your culture’s a big deal.  It’s important.  But everybody has their own journey with it.  You’ll both go at your own paces with it.” Dad allows.

Dominique mostly just listens.  She feels just a little distant.  Just a little removed from all this.  Can’t relate to Dad or Jesus and Mariana with not matching and not knowing her birth family.  She guesses, in this one way, she’s been lucky.

“Thanks for letting us talk about it,” Mariana says, looking Dad in the eye.  “Moms say we can.  Like, it’s always on the table.  But if we talk about any way we’re like…”

“…Unhappy…” Jesus fills in.

“Yeah.  Then it’s like…” Mariana ventures.

“…It becomes about them…” Jesus offers.

“But it’s  _about you_ ,” Dad says.  “It is.  And if either one of you needs somebody to talk to about this stuff, you can talk to me.  Anytime.”

“They should listen to your concerns.  Your sadness,” Mom offers.

(Dominique sees herself dressed as Sadness, but without the costume, no one can tell.)

Eventually, they have to get back.  Dominique’s gotta work the next morning, so they have to wrap this up.  Dad sends them off with containers of lasagna and coffee cake.

“It was so good to see you, baby,” Mom says to Dominique.  “And so nice to meet both of you.  Please come back again soon.”

“Thanks for having us,” Mariana offers.

“Yeah, thanks a lot.  And for letting Dudley come,” Jesus adds.

“Dudley is always welcome.  He was a perfect guest.  But even if he weren’t, we’d love to have him.”

“Yeah, have you met Roberta?” Dominique asks.  “Zero manners, but Mom and Dad let her come back anytime.”

“See you guys,” Dad says at the door, holding it open for them.  He offers to give Mariana a hand down the steps, and she accepts.  Dominique’s glad.  It’s dark now, and the faster they can get out of here the better.  For her and Jesus.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Scene XIV: Exquisite Corpse_ **

The ride home is quiet.  Roberta’s exhausted from keeping an eye on Dudley all night.  So there’s no one to talk to, but that’s just as well.  

Dominique’s not sure what’s up but she knows she hasn’t felt right since before dessert.  She’s leading the way back home, even though Jesus could probably figure it out.  And truth be told, Dominique just wants to get inside and go to bed.  

She parks and gets out ahead of Jesus and Mariana.  Finds a girl between the two sets of doors.  She looks about nine.  Doesn’t have a key.  Dominique shivers.

“Do you know Jesus?” the girl asks, nervously peering at Roberta in her carrier.

“Yeah, he and Mariana are right outside…” Dominique offers flatly.

“Is that a cat?” she asks.

“Yes,” Dominique answers, a little testy.  God, why can’t this girl just get the hell away from her?

The girl peers out the doors leading outside.  Dominique hasn’t let herself in, because of her.  They’re not supposed to admit anyone they don’t know, and no unaccompanied children are allowed either.

“Jesus!” the girl yells, seeing him lit by the outdoor lights.

“Hey, buddy!” he calls, his face splitting into a wide grin.  “What are you doing here?”

“I was at a sleepover and didn’t like it.  Moms weren’t home, so I had them drop me off here.”

“Cool, sleep over with us, then,” he says holding her hand.  “Dominique, this is our little sis, Francesca.”

Dominique can vaguely hear Francesca asking Mariana if she’s sleeping over too.  Dom wonders where Jesus will sleep all of his guests.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” she offers dully and buzzes herself in.  She hurries on the elevator and hopes they don’t follow her.  Knows it’s rude but doesn’t care.

She doesn’t say goodnight to Jesus or Mariana.  Doesn’t say anything remotely kind to Francesca.  Just rides the elevator up in the biggest panicked rush and struggles to put her key in the lock before Jesus and his slumber party arrive on this floor.

For all that Dominique has known about Jesus and his family, Francesca wasn’t in her mental files.  Doing the math in her head, Dominique realizes it’s possible that Francesca maybe wasn’t born by the time Jesus came home.  Maybe that was why she never saw a mixed baby on the news with Jesus’s family.

Francesca’s rail thin, but beautiful.  Unrestrained natural hair, searching brown eyes, and skin a few shades darker than Jesus and Mariana’s.  (“No one in our family’s Mexican but us.”  “One of our moms is white.”)

Dominique’s head is spinning.  Splitting.  Because this girl is the spitting image - everything she had ever imagined - Dominique’s own child to be.  And she was the right age.  That explained the ghost-feeling.  

God.

Dominique goes to the bathroom.  Falls on her knees.  Vomits.

–

_Dominique’s on her knees.  In the bathroom.  Throwing up like it’s a sport and she has to be the winner._

_“Amber!  Get the hell out here!”_

_There’s loud banging on the door, and Dominique knows if she can’t stop this, she’ll be in big trouble.  Finally, she gets it under control.  Rinses her mouth._

_Jeez, her boobs look huge._

_She steps back into the hotel.  Gets smacked.  Then Daddy leaves, and another one has to watch them._

_“Amber, you better not be pregnant…” another girl warns, quiet._

_“I’m not.”  (Is she?  She has been really wanting pickles, bad.  And she didn’t even used to like them.  That, plus her boobs, plus the Exorcist puking…)_

_“‘Cause Daddy’s not gonna take care of no baby.  Y’all both are gonna get killed.”_

_Dominique swallows, and it tastes gross. Crosses her arms over her stomach.  “I’m not,” she maintains, but she feels it.  Knows she is._

_She decides a lot in the next sixty seconds:  Her baby’s gonna be named Taylor McKenzie Williams, after Taylor McKenzie on High School Musical.  Her baby’s gonna be smart like Taylor.  She’s gonna find a way home, and her mom and dad will help her take care of baby Taylor.  All of them, like a family.  She imagines the life they’ll have._

_But she has to get out first._

_“Jesus?” she asks in her head.  “You there?”_

_He is._

_“I need to get away and I need to do it super soon.  I need help.  I can’t do it by myself.”_

_“You’re not by yourself,” Ghost Jesus says.  “I’m here.”_

_“Okay so, ideas.  I need all of them you have.  Even the dumb ones.”_

_“Sneak out?” he suggests._

_“Can’t.  Tried that,” she touches her own neck, remembering._

_“Okay.  What about…”_

_It takes them hours to come up with something.  She doesn’t breathe a word to anybody, not even in her mind.  She just focuses on working ‘til the moment is right._

_Luck, it turns out, is on her side.  Two days later, they’re going to a party with a driver that doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.  He’s nervous and keeps looking over his shoulder a lot.  Dominique acts like she doesn’t care.  ‘Cause that’s how you make it out here.  You act like you don’t care.  Or you really don’t care._

_She’s gotta act like she doesn’t care now, ‘cause for the first time, she really does care.  She cares about Taylor and getting them both back safe to Mom and Dad.  It won’t matter how she got Taylor.  Dominique will love her just like parents are supposed to.  Just like her Mom and Dad hopefully might love Dominique once they learn what happened and all the stuff she’s had to do._

_They stop at a gas station and she gets out to pee.  She has no idea what she’s gonna do exactly but she can’t think with all this pee inside.  She’s walking to the bathroom, like she’s in a hurry, which she is._

_“Jesus, help me.  What do I do?”_

_And there she is._

_A fancy lady like her grandma, talking on her cell phone with giant buttons._

_“Excuse me, ma’am?” she asks, super polite.  “I really need to use your phone.  It’s an emergency.”  (It helps that Dominique really is scared.)_

_The fancy lady looks at Dominique.  Not at her makeup.  Not at her clothes.  But at her face.  Her eyes.  She sees how Dominique keeps looking to the big van.  Fancy Lady doesn’t say anything except, “My name’s Roberta, baby.”_

_“I also have to pee, but I promise it’s not a trick.” Dominique begs, tears in her eyes._

_“I’ll guard the door.  Nobody will hurt you.  Go on now.”_

_Dominique rushes inside and locks the door.  Calls 911 while she’s peeing and whispers:_

_“My name is Dominique Williams, and I’m 11 years old.  I was kidnapped last year, and I need help.”  She passes on the license plate number she memorized on the van while walking by it just a minute ago.  Says the name of the gas station they’re using.  Plus everything she knows about the van, including where it’s rusty.  That it’s in San Diego and the street name.  Then, she hangs up._

_She spends as much time as she can in the locked bathroom.  She’s waiting for sirens._

_The dispatcher had said help was coming._

_But before it does, Dominique hears yelling outside the door.  Roberta threatening the nervous van driver with her cane._

_Dominique bursts out of the bathroom.  She left Roberta’s phone on the sink, and hopes she’ll look and find it there and not think Dominique stole it.  The thing is, if she gets caught with a phone, or having used one?  She’d be killed before the cops ever made it to them._

_She’s walking to the van and the nervous driver’s got her arm in a too-tight grip.  When they get to the van, where nobody else can see he starts hitting her.  She turns her body, to take the blows on her back and her head.  Not her stomach._

_He’s about to really let her have it when Dominique hears them:_

_Sirens._

_“Get in!” he rushes, jerking open the van door and pushing her inside, on the passenger seat.  She finds a seat and belts herself in, because he’s such a bad driver anyway.  If he’s being chased by cops he’s gonna be even worse._

_She’s right.  He drives too fast and takes corners dangerously.  She’s getting really sure they’ll all die.  The seconds feel like hours.  It’s the worst.  The cops won’t catch them._

_Dominique closes her eyes:_

_“Jesus,” she says in her head.  “Please.  Use your ghost powers to protect us.  Let the cops find us and know we’re not the bad ones.”_

_“I’m here,” he promises, and she feels cold all over._

_Tires squeal, then her whole body jerks as the van smashes into something.  Smoke pours out of the hood.  Then fire._

_It’s chaos.  All the other girls are climbing out the back, where the doors are open.  But Dominique’s seat belt is jammed.  And the fire’s spreading fast._

_She can still hear the sirens getting louder and louder.  They’re close.  But the fire’s closer._

_It breaks a window.  She chokes on thick smoke.  When it burns her, she screams._

_She’s not cold anymore.  That means Jesus is gone.  He didn’t mean what he said.  And she’ll die.  All those thoughts cruise through her head at top speed.  She doesn’t have time to feel sad Jesus is gone.  All she has time for is fighting and screaming.  The fire melts the seatbelt to her skin.  It gets her on the face.  Her arms.  Her chest.  Her legs._

_She sees water spraying through the flames..  A thought flickers in her mind: a hope that her belly isn’t burned._

_She’s gonna die.  The passing-out feeling is close._

_Dominique is in more pain than a human can take._

_She wishes she really were a ghost._


	22. Chapter 22

**_Scene XV: I Don’t Do Sadness_ **

It’s not hard to avoid Jesus and Mariana.

Dominique just stays in.  For the first time since Lena’s worked, Dominique has a day where she literally can’t get out of bed.  She stays in bed, and Lena actually climbs the ladder to leave food and water where she can reach it.  Mostly, she just sleeps and tries to forget.

She doesn’t even want to see Roberta right now because Roberta reminds her of the sweet old lady who did everything she could to protect Dominique that day.  She’s never seen the real Roberta again, and it’s just as well.

It’s when Mom stops by that things get real.  It’s been three days, and she’s called into work twice in a row.

Dominique has let all Mom’s calls go to voicemail.  Hasn’t had the energy to text.

“Your mom’s here,” Lena says quietly.  “Should I let her in?”

“Fine,” Dominique answers into her pillow, knowing her mother.  She’d wait all day, and Dominique wouldn’t want her to get so into taking care of Dominique that she forgot about her own life.

“Hey…”

The second she hears Mom’s voice…that concerned, loving tone…Dominique can feel the tears start.  She’s not a crier, but God, this really sucks.

She can hear Mom climbing the ladder.  It would be funny, except nothing is right now.  Everything hurts, bone deep.  Everything feels empty.  Heavy.  She should have tried harder.  Should have known better than to put the seat belt on - something.  Anything.  Anything that would mean her baby might be here right now, not wherever she is.

“You got room for one more up here?” she asks softly.

Dominique rolls toward the wall, making space on the other side for Mom, if she really wants to join her here.

Silently, she crawls in next to her.  Doesn’t say anything.  She’s just there.  Just with Dominique exactly where she is.  It’s devastating and vulnerable and Dominique hates it, but she’s also glad.  That Mom doesn’t try to get her to talk.  Or ask what happened.  Or comment on the awful state of her apartment and how much work it is for Lena to have to pick up after her.

She just offers tissues and water when Dominique can’t cry anymore.  The granola bar Lena left.  Dominique manages a few bites.

“You wanna come down with me?”

Dominique doesn’t, really, but she doesn’t want to be up here alone.  Her whole body feels like it’s got lead weights attached.  Silently, Mom offers Dominique her lotion and looks away while Dominique manages to put it on.  Though the single act exhausts her enough that Dominique could seriously go back to bed and sleep for a week.

Mom turns back to her, and smiles a little.  Happy, maybe, that Dominique’s able to do this much.  Maybe recognizing the monumental task it is for her to take care of herself today.  That the only way she can manage it - can avoid destroying herself - is to consider that her 11-year-old self is somewhere inside still, and that it wouldn’t make any sense to hurt the girl she was anymore than she’d already been hurt.

Mom walks silently beside Dominique, into her darkened costume room and pulls the costume bins around her. Calls Dominique close.  As long as the curtains are drawn and the door is closed and locked, Dominique does.

Mom’s taking things out, and Dominique’s not really paying attention.

“Can I put this on you?” Mom asks, showing the bright blue eyeliner she’s managed to locate.  

Dominique nods, not really sure what Mom’s doing.  Just aware that Mom is finally sitting in ‘her chair’ and is it everything she thought it would be?  Is it worth it to be here, even now?  

By now, Mom’s offering the pink blush and asking if she can put that on, too.  

“Sure,” Dominique nods.

Mom does the same with mascara.  Then lipstick.  Always asking first.  Dominique agrees, because it’s easier to sit here and have Mom do this - to become whoever Mom wants her to become - than to keep being Dominique.  The person who could not even save her own baby.

It turns like this - on a dime - thoughts of treating herself gently to thoughts that she is terrible and does not deserve anything, least of all this kindness.  She blinks, realizing she’s not really present until she focuses on Mom holding Dominique’s wig cap.  Wordless, Dominique accepts it.  

None of this is making sense.  Not until Mom offers the blue wig, eyebrows raised.  Dominique ducks her head so Mom can put it on.

Gently, almost reverently, Mom completes this sort-of-transformation and it hits Dominique all at once:  Mom has dressed her as Sadness. Mom, who commented once that she missed seeing Dominique under all the makeup, under the wig, under the costume.

It’s like Mom might finally understand.  That the costume functions as an accommodation.  That this one, in particular, allows her to be able to go out in the world feeling just this awful, but able to function.

“I kinda messed up the order of things,” Mom apologizes, looking at the black pants and blue sweater hung together in the closet.

“It’s okay,” Dominique croaks.  Her first sentence in days.  

With shaking hands, she takes the hanger, goes into the bathroom and slips on the pants.  Carefully manages to get the sweater on, not smudged with eye makeup or homemade crayon lipstick.

“There you are,” Mom says, softly.  “I thought maybe Lena could come back a little later?  What do you think?”

Dominique nods.

Lena gathers her purse. “All right.  I’ll see you.  I’m gonna check in on some other people and I’ll knock around dinner time.  Is that cool?”

Another nod.

After Lena leaves, Mom convinces Dominique to sit on the couch together.  “Babe, you don’t have to say anything…but did something happen with the twins?”

Dominique swallows and looks away.

“Okay.  I won’t ask anymore about it.  But if you wanna talk, I’m here.  Which one of these  _Inside Out_  people do you think Dad and I would be?”

Dominique breathes.  And offers a shaky smile.  “Joy.  That’s who you’d be.  Dad would be Fear.”

“What if we all dressed up as those on the same day?  What do you think?  Tacky?” Mom checks.

“That’s called Halloween, Mom.”

“And it’s coming up.  I’m saying, should Dad and I be preparing for this.  Doing the costume thing like you do?”

Dominique shrugs.

“You don’t have to dress up just ‘cause I do.”

“But what if we want to?  What if we want to meet you right where you are?” Mom asks.  “‘Cause you’re worth it to us.”

“If I tell you something…can it stay between us?  Like, don’t tell Dad, and don’t go telling Jesus and Mariana anything?”

“Assuming…” Mom leads off.

“I’m not gonna lose it on anybody else or myself.  I just…need to tell somebody this…and I need it not to get around…”

“Okay,” Mom agrees.

“Jesus and Mariana have a little sister…” Dominique confesses, and she can feel her heart breaking all over again.

“…Oh,” Mom says, like realization is dawning.  She opens her arms and Dominique surprises herself, collapsing into them.  “Okay, okay, okay. I understand.  I do.”

Somewhere in her mess of emotions, Dominique’s sure Mom does get it.  She watches more news than anybody else.  Has probably seen Francesca or connected the dots some other way.  Their family has done magazine covers, stories in People.  Dominique found one last year, at the bottom of an old stack on their end table.  It was dated September, 2010 and titled  **THREE YEARS LATER, FOSTER FAMILY STILL LOOKING.**  Dominique had flipped through the magazine, far enough to see the family picture with five kids, including an impossibly small, black baby girl, being cradled by one of the mothers.  Dominique had rushed to shut the magazine and crammed it back to the bottom of the pile.

They don’t talk about this, but somehow Mom gets it.  Knows just how painful it was to be shocked with Francesca’s existence.

After a while, Dominique reaches for the remote.  Finds Netflix and all the Harry Potter movies.  She starts at the beginning.

Mom stays, holding her.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Scene XVI:  Would They Like What They Saw or Would They Hate It, Too?_ **

After an entire weekend avoiding Jesus, Dominique has to get back to work.  She has enough vacation days that she could afford calling in a couple times, but no more than that.  She needs her job.  But she hopes she won’t run into Jesus there.

She spends downtime during her shifts writing poetry to Taylor in her head.  She has a little notebook, like she had in sixth grade.  She keeps it under her mattress now, and it’s empty except for poems.  

The thing with losing Taylor the way she’d lost her is that there was nowhere to go to mourn.  Nothing to bury in a cemetery.  No pictures.  She hadn’t even had an ultrasound.  So there’s just the notebook.  It’s about her and not about her.  It’s about that, too.  About stuff she can’t breathe a word about in everyday life.

Today - now - she thinks about the money.  Writes in her head about it:

_Hollow_

_Scooped out for a_

_Dollar amount_

_But I paid_

_I gave_

_My skin_

_My lips_

_My nonexistent hips_

_My child_

_And_

_Destitute_

_Friable_

_Craterous_

_Me_

The phone rings:

“UC San Diego Health.  This is Dominique,” she answers, like nothing’s wrong at all.

–

She’s outside on a lunch break, when she sees Jesus walking up, determined, with Dudley at his side.  The last thing she needs is nosy Lisa seeing this and making the rest of Dominique’s shift a living hell with her questions.

“Hey,” he says quietly.  “Can we talk?”

She glances around, figures the table she chose is as unobtrusive as she can get.  Still doesn’t feel okay about going anywhere remotely private with him.

“What’s going on?” Jesus asks softly.

“Oh, suddenly you care now?” Dominique whispers.

“What do you mean?  Of course I care.”  He looks so bewildered, and she’s shaking in a way she hopes he can’t see.

“Really?” she asks crossing her arms.  “‘Cause it seems like you only care when you got someone in front of you that you can pity.”

“What?” he asks.

“I got in touch with you.  Months ago, Jesus.  Before we really started talking.  Before you saw me in the elevator and felt sad for me, wanted to talk?  I tweeted you.  And I never heard back.”

“That’s because I never tweet anybody back, Dominique.  If I tweet one person back, everyone expects it.”

“I didn’t reach out to you ‘cause I felt entitled, Jesus!  I reached out because I thought you cared!” she hisses.  “But I guess I was wrong!”

“I do care!” he objects, whispering too.

“You got a funny  way of showing it…”

She’s on her feet, walking away, heart pounding.  Hoping to God he doesn’t follow her.

–

At night, she dreams of Taylor.  Mostly of being pregnant, because that’s the only part she’d ever known, but still, she wakes up screaming.  Feeling traitorous because who grieves a baby you got the way she got Taylor?

Still, just like Dominique can’t stop the tears, she can’t stop the onslaught of thoughts that come with them:  that this baby didn’t have a choice in who her parents were.  That just like she was half a person who made a terrible choice and did terrible things, she was also half of Dominique.  With parts of her own parents, too.  

The baby didn’t have a choice.

The words echo in Dominique’s mind.  She sees Francesca in her mind’s eye - a living, breathing Taylor - but then Francesca changes and Dominique can see a younger version of herself.  (She remembers thinking back then that eleven was so old - but she was very much still a child.

A child who didn’t have a choice.

And just like that, she’s back to sobbing in bed, except now it’s late and Mom’s at home sleeping.  And she’s here.

–

There are no cookies from Jesus this time.  She’s succeeded in hurting him.  In driving him away.  He can’t know the real truth, so she’d settled on the betrayal she felt months before they actually met.  He needed to know that part too.  And she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth.  (Both what happened to her, and that her own reaction has to do with his baby sister.)

Ironically, she can’t go to Avoidance to avoid Jesus and Mariana, (and what if they bring Francesca?) so Dominique’s stuck inside.  She opts out of group shopping.  She opts out of everything she can.  She kinda wishes she could stop time.  Or back it up to before she knew about Francesca.  Back when she was oblivious, and only dealt with her known traumas not the stealth ones that snuck up on her out of nowhere.

Dad tries to be there, from a distance.  He texts.  Sends funny pictures and videos.  But it’s like she’s stuck.  Like nothing is helping.  Like nothing ever will and her only choice is to just get through this crappy part of life without imploding.

Lena stops in, and even being around her is like salt in a giant wound for Dominique.  Lena knows Jesus.  Lena’s a fan of his cookies.  Thinks he’s sweet.  And he is.  That’s the thing.  Jesus and Mariana have done absolutely nothing to obviously hurt her, except have a sister the same age as the baby Dominique lost when she was still a baby.

–

_Saturday mornings meant cheerleading at the community center.  10 AM to noon.  It was Dominique’s favorite part of the week.  She got her homework all done Friday night, so she’d be allowed to go.  Mom and Dad were serious about putting school first._

_It was a week since her birthday and so far?  Being eleven is everything she dreamed.  She felt older and more mature.  One of the oldest in fifth grade which meant that lots of kids asked her questions and she felt really important.  Dominique liked feeling needed.  Liked helping._

_“Hey ‘Nique!” Brittany called.  She was an older girl Dominique met back when fifth grade was just starting.  Brittany was nineteen.  Tall.  Blonde.  Probably really popular back when she was in fifth grade, too._

_Dominique waved.  (Brittany was the only one to ever call her ‘Nique and Dominique let her ‘cause it sounded so much better than Dominique.)  She jogged over to Brittany’s car, where she waited sometimes.  It was as Dominique approached that she could see Brittany’s face.  The tears on it.  How upset she looked._

_“What’s wrong?” Dominique asked._

_“Can I use your phone?  Mine died, and the babysitter just cancelled on me…”_

_“Yeah, of course.  Here.”  Dominique handed her hand-me-down phone that she got from Mom and Dad (but with a brand new pink case) through Brittany’s car window._

_She talked on it for a few minutes, sounding more and more upset.  Finally she just swore: “Damn it!” and threw the phone down at the passenger seat.  It bounced down onto the floor of the car._

_Dominique opened her mouth to ask about it, but Brittany asked a question first:  “I know you have cheerleading today, but I’m really desperate here, and I trust you.  Will you watch Milo for me?”_

_“Milo?” Dominique asked._

_“He’s my son.  He’s two.  He’s really good, and we just live around the corner.  I’d have you back here in plenty of time for your parents to pick you up.  Promise.”_

_Dominique glances at the doors of the community center.  She’d seen all the other girls go in already.  She’d definitely be late._

_“Okay.” Dominique agreed.  She got in back, next to a carseat with smashed crackers and toys in it._

_“Looks like he’s hungry a lot, huh?” she joked, buckling up._

_But Brittany stopped talking back to her.  Maybe she was just in a hurry to get to her job.  But they turned one corner, and then another, and just kept going._

_When they drove out of the neighborhood, Dominique’s heart started to race.  So did her brain.  She looked around, desperate, but realized there was no way to reach her phone._

_Dominique couldn’t speak.  The reality that she’d been tricked was too big for her head to hold._

_When Brittany parked, and had Dominique get out of her car and into a van with a guy, Dominique tried to run.  She yelled and kicked.  But the man just picked her up and smiled and nodded to people around them like she was his kid just having a fit, and he was right to handle her without even asking first._

_“Stranger!” she screamed, because no other words would come out._

_“Come on, Amber.  Stop playing.” The man said, “That’s nothing to joke around about, just ‘cause you can’t get what you want.”_

_The people all around them smiled.  And he put her in the van._

_Just like that._

_Just like that, Dominique was gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dominique's poem was written by my sister.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Scene XVII: Forget You_ **

The days seem longer without Jesus and Mariana, but Dominique’s not sorry for the distance.  To be around a walking, talking trigger for her past is not something Dominique can do right now.

She avoids Avoidance like a pro.  Avoids the elevator and anywhere she’s seen Jesus before.  She can’t avoid work, but thankfully after the one confrontation, Jesus seems not to have a desire to butt heads again.  God knows Dominique doesn’t.

Mariana tries to get in touch and Dominique panics when that happens.  She has no idea what goes down when one twin’s on your shit list and the other isn’t.  Her gut is that Mariana would take Jesus’s side, no question, so the phone calls have to be so that Mariana can have it out with Dominique, too.

There hasn’t been much progress on the self-care side of things.  Her apartment’s an even bigger disaster than usual and no matter what Lena suggests, Dominique just can’t.

There’s a knock on the door.  Dominique pulls the blanket over her head.

“It’s Mariana,” Lena informs Dominique, and Dominique nearly falls out of bed.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving, Dominique.  And I’m not mad.  Can we just talk?” she calls, presumably from the doorway.

“I guess,” Dominique relents.  If Mariana can stand her disgusting living space and her depressed self, why not?  She’s here now.  Dominique just hopes everything doesn’t come spilling out the second she sees Mariana’s face.

“Hey.”

Shit.  Mariana’s voice is even closer now.  Maybe in the room with her.  Best not to look.

“Hey,” Dominique says back.

Dominique can hear stuff being moved.  “Just finding a place to sit, since there’s no way…I can climb…that ladder.  There.”

Dominique doesn’t move.  It’s her day off.  She doesn’t have to.  She can’t anyway.  Jesus is probably at Avoidance right now avoiding her.  She can’t very well go there and try to avoid him.

“I just wanna know…did we do something?  After dinner on Friday, you just pulled away.  Jesus said you guys fought.”

“That’s between him and me,” Dominique maintains.

“Okay.  Well, are you mad at  _me_?” Mariana checks.

“No.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mariana keeps trying.

Dominique peeks out from under the blankets.  Sees Mariana sitting on the chair in front of Dominique’s laptop, in the midst of her hellacious mess.  She’s dressed in gray sweats and a light pink top.  Her hair’s still styled in the way that makes it look cute and tousled.  Her glasses still make her look super studious.  Like she got all A’s in school.  Like Dominique did, once upon a time.  (Like Taylor might have.)  

Finally, Dominique gets the bottle of water Lena left within her reach.  Goes back under.

“You wanna help me even though you know I yelled at your brother?” Dominique’s incredulous.

“Maybe you don’t know this because you lived a lot of years as an only child, but siblings fight,” Mariana offers.  “That doesn’t mean they quit each other.  I’m not walking away here.  Neither is Jesus.  He’s just giving you space.”

“I don’t really care…” Dominique mumbles.  “Y’all  _should_  quit me. I’d welcome the hell out of it, actually…”

“What happened?” Mariana presses, her voice heavy.  “What can we do?”

“Nothing. Okay?  There’s nothing either one of you can do to help, and you’d seriously hate me if you knew the truth, so stop pushing.”

Mariana’s quiet for long enough that Dominique thinks maybe she left.  She peeks out from under her nest of blankets with one eye.  Mariana’s still here.  Just sitting.

“I’m avoiding Avoidance, because I’m sure Jesus is there…” Dominique confides.

“He didn’t go today.  He was sure you’d go and didn’t want to make things worse.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You just gonna sit there all day?” Dominique checks.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Dominique nods off moments later, as Mariana hums the song from the other night at dinner under her breath.  Dominique’s glad sleep is there, and that she doesn’t have to stay awake and get all emotional though.  She doesn’t even have time to get freaked out about falling asleep with someone else in here. About the nightmares that have been coming, fast and furious, ever since Dominique first saw Francesca.

Of getting taken.

And of other things that make her tense up. Wake up screaming.  Feeling used.  Feeling actual sensations she doesn’t ever want to.

This time, though, she doesn’t dream.  And when she wakes up, Mariana’s still humming.  When Dominique checks, she’s got Roberta on her lap.

She wouldn’t ever come down if given the choice, but she has to pee.  Dominique holds Mariana’s eye contact as she climbs down.  Walks past.  No makeup.  No wig.  No costume. Just old black sweats and a baggy gray tee shirt.  She grabs her lotion on the way by, figuring she might as well get that done, too, and not in front of Mariana.

Dominique’s in the bathroom when she realizes it: Mariana didn’t look away once.

She doesn’t have the energy for a shower, but she grabs the dry shampoo and sprays it on.  Lets it do its thing while she gets a cleansing cloth and gets all the necessary places.  Then she combs out her hair.  Maybe she’ll feel like changing into a costume later, but for right now, she’s exhausted.

If Mariana’s offended at how long Dominique’s been gone, or that she immediately climbs back up to bed, she doesn’t say anything.

“I used to sleep fully dressed,” Mariana confides, and Dominique knows she’s noticed Dominique’s own habit of sleeping in her old Nikes.

She gets back under the blankets.  Covers up.  Finds another bottle of water and a granola bar there.

“We were in second grade, and still going back and forth to our birth mom’s.  Sometimes she got custody of us for longer periods.  I don’t know.  It just felt safer there, wearing more clothes.”

Dominique takes this in.  All the implications.  What it could mean.  Finally, she speaks:

“Want a granola bar?” Dominique asks.

“You keep it, but what kind?” Mariana wonders, interested.

“S’mores.”

“That  _does_  sound good,” Mariana admits, sounding pained.

Wordlessly, Dominique drops the box of granola bars down to her.

“One of these, at least, should be for you.”

“Whatever, it’s called being neighborly,” Dominique quips from under the blankets.

“I’m tossing this one back up,” Mariana warns, around a mouthful.

“Great. You do that.”

“Awesome.  I will.”

Dominique is sure she’s kidding until she hears the granola bar in the wrapper slide in the gap in her blankets, right by her face.

“You said you were gonna toss it,” Dominique insists, pulling the granola bar under the blankets.

“Well I didn’t want it to fall and get lost.”

There’s a few minutes of silence while Dominique eats her granola bar.  She checks again, and Mariana’s still there.  “How long did it take…for your parents to give up on you…you know….after your accident?”

“It’s only been six months…but I think…when I came home and they realized that I was different.  That’s how they started treating me, too.”

“Different, like, from trauma?” Dominique asks.

“More like body-snatched.  That’s how they treat me now.  Like I’m some other person in their daughter’s body…Or not even a person at all.  That I’m just a head injury now.  Like…pieces…of a head injury.”

“Like symptoms?” Dominique wonders, peeking out.  

Mariana nods.

“That’s messed up…” Dominique allows.

“Did your parents treat you that way?  Like, after your accident?”

“My accident…was more than just an accident. Can I trust you with something?  Can you not tell Jesus?”

“Yes,” Mariana says, and Dominique believes her.

“What happened to Jesus…something similar happened to me.  Not the exact same.  But the accident happened when I tried to get away…”

“Oh my God,” Mariana breathes.

“So my parents, I think, were caught between being grateful I was still alive and pouring all their energy into making sure I  _stayed_  alive. So… They always treated me like a person, though,” she says apologetically.

“That’s good,” Mariana says, actually sounding relieved on Dominique’s behalf. Not jealous at all.

“For what it’s worth?” Dominique offers, finally taking the blanket off her head.  “I think your parents are missing out.  The person you are now?  Is pretty great.”


	25. Chapter 25

**_Scene XVIII:  Words Fail_ **

Mariana’s quiet for a few minutes and for a while, Dominique’s sure (again) that she’s left.  But when she looks for herself, she can see Mariana swallowing. Blinking back tears.

“Hey…” Dominique offers.  

“I’m fine.  It’s just…no one’s told me that yet…and it…gets lonely.”

“There’s tissue,” Dominique points out.  “On the desk.  Under the pile of stuff to the left.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks,” Mariana smiles.  She finds the box of tissues, knocking some stuff to the floor in the process.  “Oh, way to go, Mariana,” she chides herself.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.  I meant what I said, though.  I mean, there’s not many people who would just come and be with me, on days like these, and not demand answers.”

Mariana shrugs.  “Not everything’s my business.  I get that.”

“I’m really scared that you’re gonna tell Jesus about me.” Dominique admits.

“I won’t,” Mariana promises.  “I’m really scared that because you’re fighting with him, you’re not going to want to stay friends with me.”

“I do,” Dominique counters softly.  Francesca flashes through her mind.  “It’s just…complicated.”  She pauses.  “Did you mean the triplet thing?  Or was it just, like, a joke?”

“I did feel close to you, like, instantly.  Like a triplet. That’s not a joke,” Mariana reassures.  “And I hope that whatever is complicating things for you is something we can eventually talk about. When you’re ready.”

“Not yet,” Dominique cautions.

“No.  Not yet,” Mariana echoes.  “Should I just let Jesus know to keep his distance?  No  _I’m Sorry_  cookies?”

“What flavor are those?” Dominique asks, intrigued.

“You know, I don’t even know.  I feel like they’d be yellow, though. Because when my moms are sorry, it’s always yellow flowers that they get each other.”

“I do like lemon…” Dominique ventures.  “Do  _not_  tell your brother that.”

Mariana laughs. “I won’t.”

–

Mom’s concerned enough that she keeps suggesting awful ideas out of the goodness of her heart:

_Mom:_

_Look, I know you’re not a fan of therapy.  I’m not either. I’m not saying it has to be that.  It could be church.  Just so you’d have someone to talk to._

Dominique’s mouth drops open.

_Seriously? Church?  What makes you think I’d be welcome in that space? That I’d feel safe there?  With my past…_

_Mom:_

_Honey, what happened isn’t your fault._

_Dominique:_

_I know that.  Most of the time. Sometimes.  Okay?  But church?  No.  I don’t need to talk to them._

_Mom:_

_I really think you need to talk to somebody, Dominique. I respect you and I respect your boundaries, so these are only suggestions. I’m concerned._

_Dominique:_

_I’m talking to Mariana._

_Mom:_

_You are? I thought you and the twins were fighting._

_Dominique:_

_No. Only me and Jesus._

_Mom:_

_Oh._

Dominique opens another text to send to Mariana:

_Hey.  Is it okay to share w/ my mom that you were in a car accident, too?  She’s worried about me. I think it might help to know I have a friend w/ common ground.  But your call._

_Mariana:_

_Sure, I don’t care.  How are you?_

_Dominique:_

_Fine.  I’ll catch up with you in a bit._

Dominique goes back to her texts with her mom.  Another one has come through while she was texting Mariana:

_Mom:_

_Mariana’s a sweet person, but does she get what you’ve been through?  I know Jesus does._

_Dominique:_

_Jesus doesn’t know.  Kinda why we’re fighting.  And Mariana doesn’t get all of it, no, but she was in an accident a few months ago.  So she relates to that._

_Mom:_

_Oh, that’s good._

_Dominique:_

_Easier to talk to someone who’s been through it, too, than it is to talk to someone who has no idea._

_Mom:_

_I do._

_Dominique:_

_You what?_

_Mom:_

_Have an idea of what you’re going through.  Know what it’s like to be hurt like that.  So if you ever need to talk to a friend who knows what it’s like…I’m here._

Dominique’s breath catches.  All this time and she’s never known.  How awful must this have been for her mom?  Knowing Dominique had been hurt too.

_Dominique:_

_Thank you.  I’m so sorry.  I believe you._

_Mom:_

_I believe you, too, babe.  Always_.

–

The next day, after work, Dominique brings Mom to Avoidance.  After they stop for coffee and frozen hot chocolate.  There was no time for a costume change today and Awful Barista was working.  Luckily, Mom handled him, asking what he was staring at and demanding that he learn some manners.

“So, this is the famous Avoidance…” Mom ventures as they sit down at the single picnic table.  It’s later than usual, but the fading light feels comfortable here, with just the two of them.

“It is…and it’s not famous…” Dominique manages a smile.

“Are you using Avoidance to avoid your friends?” Mom asks knowingly.

“…I’m not avoiding  _you_ ,” Dominique retorts lightly.

“I’m glad.”

There’s some silence, but they’re okay with it, just sipping their drinks.  Finally, Dominique breaks it:  “So…when you were pushing me to talk to someone…were you hoping I’d talk to you?”

“No.  I never wanted you to have to know this about me.  I did want you to talk to someone.  I still do.  It doesn’t have to be me.  But it can be.  If you want.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Dominique admits.  “Don’t like to think about it.”

“That’s fair.” Mom agrees.  “Horrible things happened to you.  It makes sense that you wouldn’t want to talk about them.  Or think about them.”

“Makes me feel crazy.  I start out so sure that everything happened the way I thought.  I feel like, I know what this was.  I know it wasn’t on me.  But then my mind like loops around like one of those corkscrew roller coasters?  And I think, “ _Maybe it wasn’t that big a deal.  Maybe it didn’t even happen at all.  It was a long time ago.  Maybe I’m making it up_.”

“It’s a lot for anyone to hold in their mind.  In their soul.  In their being.  That much more for a child.  For you to wanna make it smaller makes sense.  If I had to guess, I’d guess that you were told it was no big deal.”

Dominique nods.

“Maybe you were told a lot.  And when that happens?  Words like that?  They seep inside you.  They sink in like teeth.  It was aggressive, babe.  It was a big deal.  It happened.  Just because it was a long time ago doesn’t mean you’re making it up.”

“Are you sure?” Dominique asks.

“Honey, I wish I wasn’t.  But I am so positive.  I believe you.  It’s okay to believe yourself.”

“I had to not care…’cause caring didn’t matter…”  Dominique says into the darkness.

“Because they said it was no big deal.  They dismissed you.  Minimized the pain they were causing you.  That wasn’t right.”

“Did it happen to you, too?”

“I was dismissed, yeah.  I was told it doesn’t hurt, when I knew it did.”

Dominique bristles.  “You don’t have nightmares, though…”

“No, mine are a different kind. I dream of losing you.”

“I dream of losing _her_ …” Dominique whispers, her voice thick.  “And she’s wrapped up in all this.  ‘Cause if I say that didn’t happen…then she didn’t exist…and if she didn’t exist…”

“You never had to lose her,” Mom offers, her tone all love, all compassion.   “That makes sense.”

She comes around the table.  Sits beside Dominique.  Stays as Dominique leans into her, tears falling.

“It makes sense.  It does.  It makes so much sense…”

“Jesus and Mariana…their little sister…looks just like her.  Same age.  Same everything.  I saw her…”

Mom doesn’t say anything.  Just listens.

“So it’s  _her_  you’re avoiding,” Mom says after several seconds, no judgment.

“Yeah…which is not fair.  She’s a kid, and she’s sweet and she didn’t do a thing to me.”

“She triggered you.  And she might not always.  But since you weren’t expecting to see her, it might have been especially hard.”

“Do things trigger you?” Dominique asks.  

“Yes,” Mom answers simply.

“I bet you’re braver than me…”

“This one time…you were about two years old.  We were out shopping.  Me, you and Dad.  And I just had to get out of there. I made Dad drive us home right then.  Left the groceries.  You were crying ‘cause you wanted a gumball and I promised you one if you were very good.  The whole way home you were like, ‘ _I bery good, Mama_!’”

“Crying?” Dominique manages, laughing somehow.

“Oh,  _sobbing_.   _You_  were crying.   _I_  was crying.  Finally, Dad ran into the dollar store near home and picked up some bubbles.  When we got home, we all sat on the deck together and blew bubbles.  It helped some.”

“I wish it were that easy now….” Dominique ventures.

“I like this way better actually.  I never could talk about it with Dad.  Not much anyway.  It’s a woman thing.”

“I haven’t told Jesus…” Dominique nods.  “But I kinda told Mariana.  I think she understands.  I know Jesus would, too, but it feels like a big step.”  

“You don’t have to tell anybody you’re not ready to tell.  Just because you know his story, you don’t owe him yours.” Mom says.

It feels like weight’s being lifted off her shoulders, but Dominique can’t comment on it at all.  Instead she goes in a different direction:

“I’m afraid they might not want anything to do with me if they ever find out Francesca’s freaking me out.”

“Francesca….” Mom ventures.  “That’s right.  They had a baby before Jesus got back, didn’t they?  She was born before you got back.  Which means she’s not exactly the same age.  About a year older, if I had to guess.  I don’t know if that helps, and I’m not trying to push, I promise.”

“No, I know, and it does help a little.”

“Being with you helps a lot,” Mom admits, pressing a kiss into her hair.  “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thanks for being here, Mom.”

“I’m always here for you.  Happy to fill in when you need a friend.”

“I have lots of friends…well…I have _two_  friends.  But I only have one of you.” Dominique says.  

She leans into Mom.  Breathes her in.


	26. Chapter 26

**_Scene XIX: Too Many Years Spent Fighting Back Tears_ **

Being able to talk to Mom is something that Dominique needs like she needs air.  So many times, she’s discussed this with people and heard it diminished.  

_(The guys probably didn’t know how old you were.)_

_(If you didn’t want to be there, you could’ve tried to get away, you know?)_

_(They’re good guys, I’m sure.  They just made some mistakes in their life.)_

It’s been reactions like these that have kept Dominique mostly silent for the better part of ten years about what happened to her.  But Mom never places the blame back on Dominique’s own shoulders.  Swears Dominique has her absolute confidence and Mom would never break that, not even to tell Dad anything.

It means everything that Dominique doesn’t have to worry about her deepest feelings, fears, and secrets getting out, and circulating around where Dominique can’t control who knows or how much they know.

Mom’s up for as much processing as Dominique needs to do.  Responds to her texts no matter the time.  Stays late into the night, talking to her, in her messy apartment.  Sometimes even picking up for her a little if Dominique lets her.

One night, Mom doesn’t have to work the next day.  Neither does Dominique.  The clock’s edging toward 10 PM, which is usually Mom’s cut-off time, so she can stay awake to drive home.  

“You gotta go, right?” Dominique asks.

“No.”

“No?”

“Dad said we should take as much time as we needed.”

“Can you stay tonight?” Dominique asks, trying not to hold her breath at the possibility.

“I can if you want me to, yes.  I’d love to stay.”

“We can share the bed,” Dominique says.  “You don’t have to sleep in the costume room chair, or the couch.  They’re not very comfortable.  Sorry I was so mean about you staying, before.  I didn’t know…that you got it…you know?”

“I know,” Mom says, not mad at all.

Dominique ventures out to the kitchen, feeling hungry for the first time  in days.  She takes out her favorite pizza from the freezer.

“Want some?” she asks.

“You know I do,” Mom smiles.

“Small ones or big?” Dominique checks.

“Let’s go big.” Mom decides.  

They settle on the couch, facing each other.  Roberta’s between them, lounging on Jesus’s blanket.

“Starting to hate that blanket…” she admits.

“Roberta’s?” Mom asks.

“It’s not supposed to be hers.  Jesus left it for me before we really knew each other.  With those hot chocolate cookies, remember?”

“Right.  How’s it going with them?”

Dominique shrugs.  “Mariana’s here a lot, but I haven’t heard from Jesus.  Except…” she pulls a letter out of her pocket.  Offers it.

“A letter.  I feel like  _I’m_  in college now…” Mom muses, accepting the letter.  “May I?” she asks.

Dominique nods.

She knows what Mom’s gonna see:

_Dear Dominique,_

_I don’t know what happened but I want you to know that no matter what I’m here.  I won’t annoy you after this if you don’t want.  I just want you to know that I’m not mad or anything.  We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.  I just miss hanging out with you.  Mariana and I are gonna be at Avoidance this week - Wednesday - the usual time.  If you want to meet us there, you can.  We’d love to see you. - Jesus_

Mom folds the letter.  

“So, what do you think I should do?” Dominique asks.

“What do you feel?”

“I feel like I miss my friends,” Dominique says.  “And if they’re not gonna harass me about why I was an ass to them, all the better. But I’m scared, too.”

“What are you scared of?” Mom wonders, eating her pizza.

“If it’s a trick…” Dominique admits in a whisper.

“You think your friends would trick you?” Mom asks, sympathetic.

Dominique shrugs.  “Brittany did…”

“Babe, Brittany was not your friend.  She was nice to you ‘cause she wanted you to trust her, so she could get you in the car with her…”

“Well, so what if this is like that, Mom?  What if they say they’re not mad, but really they are?  What if they know about how I feel about Francesca and they’re pissed?”

“I haven’t spoken to either one of them about Francesca or anything else since dinner on Friday.  Have you?” Mom asks calmly.

“I’ve talked to Mariana…but not about Francesca.”  Dominique admits.

“Okay.  Did Mariana seem upset?”

“No, but Mom, nobody seemed pissed at first.  They all seemed nice…” Dominique’s almost begging.   _Please believe me._

“Okay.  Miss Roberta, you gotta go.  You are being evicted from this spot.”  Mom picks up Roberta, blanket and all, and moves her to Mom’s former place at the other end.  Mom moves beside Dominique.  Offers her arms and Dominique goes into them.  

“I know,” Mom murmurs.  “I do.  And that’s not your fault that you were tricked.  That you were hurt like that.  You don’t have to go see Jesus and Mariana if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Dominique admits, her voice breaking.  Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest at admitting it again, out loud.  Before she knows it, Dominique is full on ugly-crying.

“Breathe, babe,” Mom reassures.  “I got you.”

“I want to,” Dominique gasps again.

“And I bet it feels scary…if you think they might be mad…”  Mom ventures, soft.

Dominique nods over and over.

“You know what?” Mom asks.  She waits til Dominique’s a little calmer.  “Your reaction is totally reasonable.”

“It is not,” Dominique laughs, not expecting to.  “It’s the opposite of reasonable, Mom.”

“It’s reasonable, because of what you’ve been through.  You’ve experienced many, many more people who act nice and hurt you anyway than people who truly care about you and would never wanna hurt you.  So it makes sense that you’d be hesitating at this.”

Dominique relaxes, infinitesimally, feeling again, like Mom gets where she’s coming from.  Not that she is desperately alone.

“I could go with you,” Mom offers. “If it’s not too uncool to have your mom at Avoidance with your friends…”

“You would do that?” Dominique asks, her voice shaking a little.  

“It’d have to be a little later in the day.  ‘Cause I work ‘til afternoon, but after that, I can come over.  We can go together.”

It’s like Dominique can finally breathe again.  They climb into bed a little later.  Mom keeps her arms wrapped around Dominique and it’s the safest she’s felt since before everything.

“I used to wanna do this so bad…” Mom admits, in the dark.  “Hold you.  After.  But you were so hurt…”

“Yeah,” Dominique whispers back.  “I remember.  And after that, I didn’t really wanna be close to anybody…not for a long time…”

“Do you want me to hold you like this right now?”  Mom checks.

“If you want to,” Dominique nods.  “Not if you don’t.”

“I do.  You’re my baby.  I always do.”

“I miss my baby,” Dominique whispers, her voice thick.

“I bet…” Mom holds her a little tighter.  “There’s no greater loss in the world, I think.”

“I think she would’ve been smart.” Dominique admits.

“Oh, she definitely would’ve been smart. She was yours.”

“Mine with barely an education,” Dominique counters.  “So, I don’t know how I’m thinking she would’ve been smart.”

“You might’ve been naive, but you were never unintelligent, babe,” Mom promises.

“It’s bad to be naive,” Dominique comments, disappointed.

“It’s  _normal_  to be naive.  You were eleven.”

“Were you?  Naive?”

“No.  I was not,” Mom admits ruefully.

“I bet I got it from Dad, then…” Dominique decides.

“That’s a safe guess.”

Dominique can hear the smile in Mom’s voice.  Can hear when her breathing evens out.  Dominique lies awake for a long time, thinking.  If Taylor had made it, would she be like the john?  DNA isn’t like Halloween candy.  You can’t pick your favorite parts - a favorite parent - the best traits.

It was entirely possible that her baby could have been a walking, talking reminder of not only that time in her life, but that john.  They all blended together after a while, but Dominique’s sure she would know.  Because any part that she could not immediately recognize as from her, or her parents, or her Gran, Dominique would know had to come from the other side.  

Still, Dominique finds herself wishing that Taylor had lived.  Even years later, when she found out her favorite character’s name was Taylor McKessie, not Taylor McKenzie like Dominique had thought at eleven.

She stays awake, thinking about who her baby might have grown up to be, if she’d been allowed to have a life.


	27. Chapter 27

**_Scene XX: Night’s The Only Time of Day_ **

As the days pass, it just gets harder.  The anticipation of seeing Jesus and Mariana is almost too much to take.  

Mom had slept “the best she had in months” in Dominique’s bed with her.  Dominique didn’t have the heart to admit that she had not been able to close her eyes, for fear that her mom’s arms might become someone else’s if nightmares came into play.  And she couldn’t take waking up screaming and trying to fight off Mom.

Dominique loses herself in day to day chores and work.  Lena’s pushing her to do a bit more on days when she sees Dominique has a bit more energy to spare. She can pick up the living room sometimes, because that mostly means folding a couple of blankets.  But her dishes regularly pile up in the sink.  Her bedroom’s a disaster.  She can’t find anything in her costume room.  She doesn’t touch anything in the bathroom at all.

Thankfully Lena doesn’t lose patience, like Dominique feels like she deserves.  Doesn’t leave her to exist in the dirty apartment and get kicked out for violating her lease by being too big a slob.  She shows up about once a day, five days a week.  So many more than the two she originally planned.

“I’m sorry I’m so gross,” Dominique apologizes from bed.

“You’re not gross,” Lena insists.  “You want a costume today or regular clothes?”

“If that’s your subtle way of asking if I’m getting dressed?  No.”

“Your mom’s going with you later.  What’s she wearing?” Lena presses, annoyingly cheerful.

“My guess is work clothes…” Dominique ventures, through clenched teeth.  But she texts Mariana to let her know about when she’ll be at Avoidance, if she and Jesus wanna be there, too.

Lena takes the hint and is quiet a while.  And eventually, Dominique does get up because she can’t ignore Lena singing every Beyonce song she knows.  And because Mom will be here soon.  

Dominique walks with a blanket wrapped around her (not Jesus’s) to the costume room.  Her Tiana costume is the only one that’s all together, and that’s as good as any.  This visit’s sure as hell gonna feel like work.  (And she can’t stop the little voice in the back of her head that reminds Dominique’s Tiana dress is Jesus’s favorite out of all her costumes.  And maybe if she dresses in something he likes, he’ll be less likely to get mad.)

Mom texts when she’s close but Dominique doesn’t come down until she says she’s here.

“Hey….whoa,” Dominique says, shocked, a slow smile spreading.  Mom is dressed, head to toe in black and purple, black curvy horns coming out of her head.  All her hair tucked under the headpiece.  “Maleficent?” she guesses.

Mom nods.  

Dominique knows her Disney trivia.  Maleficent was an evil fairy in  _Sleeping Beauty_. But when Dominique was fifteen, she and Mom had gone to see  _Maleficent_  in the theater together.  Both had sat, stunned, watching when Maleficent woke up and realized her wings were gone.  Literally ripped off her back.  Remembers how Mom had reached for Dominique’s hand in the dark and Dominique had pulled away.  It had been obvious to Dominique then: the scene was about rape.  What hadn’t been as obvious then, was that Mom saw that, too.  Got it, too.

“I love it,” Dominique confirms.

“I got your back.  I mean that.”  Mom promises.

“Thank you,” Dominique breathes, getting in the passenger side and riding the short distance to Avoidance.

–

Mariana and Jesus’s faces light up when they see Dominique and her mom approaching.  They think it’s cute, from their faces.  But Dominique can feel Mom’s energy just like Mom can no doubt feel hers.  Neither one is smiling.  They walk up, and wait for Jesus to move and sit beside Mariana.

“Hey…” Jesus ventures.  Dudley cowers.  “Nice costumes.”

Mom sits first, and Dominique follows.  They nod together.

There are frozen hot chocolates in front of them.  Mom takes hers and sips.  Dominique does, too.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Jaimie,” Mariana says, smiling.  But it’s awkward.  

Dominique’s counting on that, to be honest.  Wants them off their game.  She gets it isn’t healthy.  Gets they must still be upsetting to be around them if she feels better knowing they don’t know what to expect.  But she needs to feel in control.  And being here with Mom - both costumed - feels like armor.  It feels like Dominique needs it to feel.

If they don’t know what to expect then them getting mad has less a chance at happening.  Dominique knows Mom’s not about to spill anything Dominique’s shared with her.  That she’s just here for moral support.  But the truth is, that without bringing Francesca, or Dominique’s own past into the discussion, she has no idea what to say.

“How are you guys?” Jesus asks.

Dominique tenses.  It’s the only question she wanted to be asked, for years, and now he’s asking when she can’t answer.  Ironic that she has been so concerned over Jesus and Mariana losing it when it looks like Dominique will be losing her shit first.

“This was a mistake,” she grinds out, and Mom stands with her.

“Oh.  Okay,” Mariana says, startled.  

Dominique doesn’t say bye.  Doesn’t look back.  She can’t do this.  Can’t be here.  The only person who’s helping Dominique stay remotely together Maleficent Mom, unlocking the car with her remote starter.

“Sorry,” Dominique says, once they’re in with the doors closed.  She’s shaking.  Doesn’t know why.

“I got you fresh from work and you even dressed up for me…and I couldn’t do it…”

“You did just fine,” Mom reassures.  “You weren’t ready.  It’s okay not to be ready.  They’re your friends.  They’ll realize that.”

“You think?” Dominique asks.

“I do,” Mom says, confident.  “Now, where do you most wanna be?”

“With you,” Dominique says, surprising herself.  “I don’t suppose you can stay the night again?”

“I can’t tonight, but that ought to be good for you.  You’ll actually get some rest.”

“What do you mean?” Dominique asks.

“I mean, you barely moved all night.  I knew you hadn’t slept.  You’re like a tornado when you sleep.  Used to smack me right in the face.”

“What?” Dominique laughs.

“Yeah.  Needed at least half the bed for your tiny self, and even that was apparently not enough.  Dad started sleeping on the couch.”

Dominique wrinkles her nose.  “Sounds like I was awful.”

“You were wonderful then, and you’re wonderful now,” Mom insists.

“You’re overstating,” Dominique maintains.

“Do not challenge the Mistress of all Evil,” Mom says seriously.  “I know these things.  You are my daughter.”

“Okay…” Dominique smiles a little.  “I feel so heavy all the time,” she admits after a minute.  “Does that ever go away?”

“I think…” Mom muses.  “We just get stronger…so we can carry more weight.  It doesn’t go away.  We just carry it with us.”

“What if I can’t?” Dominique asks, her throat thick.  “What if it’s too much for me?”

“Then you let me carry it for a while…” Mom offers.

“You got your own pain.  A lot of it,” Dominique insists.

“Right, so you know I’m strong enough to carry yours.”

“For how long?” Dominique asks.  “And how long are you and Dad gonna be okay with me needing to process the hell out of my trauma?”

“How long will you need me?” Mom asks back, sure and soft.

“Right about now?  My answer is forever.”  Dominique stares out the window.  Sees tree shadows moving in the fading light.  But for once, she isn’t scared.  Not with Maleficent by her side.

“Then that’s how long you’ll have me,” Mom says, resolute.  With her horns, it’s super effective.

“You can’t promise that,” Dominique denies.

“No, but I can damn sure try.”  Mom’s eyes are shining.  With strength or tears, Dominique isn’t sure.

Maybe because they’re one and the same.


	28. Chapter 28

**ACT III: NO ONE IS ALONE**

**_Scene I: Her Voice_ **

It’s Friday night, and Dominique’s stuck at the apartment without Mom.  

Roberta’s giving her the cold shoulder because Dominique’s decided to fold up Jesus’s blanket and put it away.  She hasn’t figured out what to do beyond that.  Maybe hide out in her costume room and work on something new?  

A glance out the window sets Dominique’s heart racing.  In the fading daylight, there’s Francesca, getting dropped off at the curb.  Dominique glances away.  

She’s got to do something to occupy her mind.  It still lurches unpredictably from Fine to Destroyed.  From knowing she is doing what’s best for herself to feeling like she’s terrible for doing what she had to do to survive.  And seeing Francesca’s definitely not helping things.

Dominique turns on some music.   _Dear Evan Hansen_ seems appropriate for the shit she’s going though.  Roberta likes it less than  _RENT_  but more than  _Cats_.  She peeks her head around the doorway but doesn’t come in, even when Dominique sings: “ _I’ve learned to slam on the brake before I even turn the key.  Before I make the mistake.  Before I lead with the worst of me.  Give them no reason to stare.  No slipping up if you slip away.  So I’ve got nothing to share.  No, I’ve got nothing to say…_ ”

Her phone rings as Dominique’s doing a search for all things Maleficent related, in case she wants to dress as Mom’s sidekick ever. Dominique glances at her phone screen and sees the call’s coming from the front doors.

Mom has a key.  She wouldn’t have to call.  And Dad would just come with Mom.  She’s not expecting anyone.  Thinks about ignoring the call, but curiosity gets the better of her.

“Hello?” she asks.

“Um…hi…” a small voice greets.  “This is Francesca, Jesus’s sister.  He said if I ever had trouble finding him I should call you.”

“You can’t find him?”

The call cuts out.  Downstairs only allows for brief interactions, and it’s enough to have Dominique abandoning her costume stuff, grabbing her own apartment key and going down to the lobby.

There’s Francesca, standing between the double-doors looking unsure.  People are in the lobby, looking back at her, but nobody has approached to let her in.  They’re staring at her.  She’s looking back, scared.  Purple shirt.  Flowered leggings.  Her hair is loose.  And for the first time, Francesca doesn’t conjure what-if images of Taylor.  Instead, Dominique sees herself, alone in a parking lot, as a car drives up.  If a muskrat can get in here (which, according to apartment lore, they could) then anybody could.  No way a kid’s safe just standing down here by herself.

Francesca’s got to have been down here for several minutes at least.  “Hey, babe.  Come in here,” Dominique insists.  She offers her hand, because Francesca looks so unsure.

Francesca doesn’t hesitate.  Takes it.  

“I’m really sorry for bothering you.  It’s just that Jesus said if anything ever happened I should call you.  I could trust you.”

“You can.  Yeah.  My name is Dominique.  You can wait with me, until Jesus is back.”

“Okay.”

“So, you don’t know where he went?” Dominique checks, unlocking her apartment door.

“No.  Well, he  _might_  be at a meeting, but I told him I wanted to sleep over again and I thought he’d stay here instead.  My mom didn’t wanna bring me over at all, so I didn’t wanna call her back and tell her he wasn’t here.”

“Ah,” Dominique says.  She has no idea what kind of meetings Jesus goes to, but she doesn’t ask.

“Can I pet your cat?” Francesca asks, spotting Roberta.

“Sure, but she’s in a mood. She likes music, though…” Dominique’s on her way to finding a more age appropriate song to play than  _Sincerely Me_ when she hears Francesca singing  _ohs_  softly.

“ _I messed up tonight.  I lost another fight.  I still mess up but I’ll just start again.  I keep falling down.  I keep on hitting the ground.  I always get up now to see what’s next_.” Francesca sings.

Roberta doesn’t trust it, but Dominique loves it. “Hey. what song is that?”

“ _Try Everything_.  It’s from  _Zootopia_.”  Francesca shrugs.  Just like Jesus.  Just like Mariana.

“You have a great voice.  How old are you?” Dominique asks, impressed.

“No, I don’t.  I’m ten. Mariana has the best voice and Callie has the second best one.”  Francesca continues, naming every single member of her family.  She ranks herself last.

“Why do you say that?” Dominique wonders.

“‘Cause, it’s true.  Everyone’s better than me.”

Dominique raises her eyebrows. “The kids at school say that?”

“Yup.  And my moms, when they think I can’t hear.  I’m terrible in math, terrible in gym and science.  They think I’m just not trying but I really am.  Jesus was the only one who understood what it was like.”

“What  _what_  was like?” Dominique asks.

“Being different.”

“How do you mean?”

Francesca gestures to herself.  “Like, you know…different.  Like we both are.”

“Like, Black?” Dominique wonders.

“Yeah, but also…different…like I have CP and you have…that…” Francesca ventures, pointing to various marks she can see on Dominique’s skin.

“These are scars,” Dominique clarifies.

“Oh!” Francesca’s whole face lights up.  “I have one of those.  Here.  I’ll show you.”

She fights to take her shoe and sock off.  It takes a while.  Finally, she’s trying to point out a tiny two-inch scar, about where her Achilles tendon is.

“It’s right back there, see?”  Francesca’s contorting herself, trying to show Dominique.

“Yeah.  I see it.”

“I didn’t know other people had scars….you know, in other families.” Francesca ventures, her shoe and sock forgotten on the floor as she studies Dominique’s arm.  Her neck.  Her face.  “Yours look different than mine.  And Jesus’s and Mariana’s.”

“Well mine aren’t from surgery.” Dominique offers.

“Oh.  Do they hurt?”

“Does yours?” Dominique checks.

Francesca laughs.  “No.”

“No, mine don’t either.”

“You’re so lucky you get to live here,” Francesca sighs, struggling back into her sock and shoe.  “I wish I got to live in an apartment.”

“Maybe someday, you can.”

“Here?”

“What do you mean?” Dominique asks, her mind flashing to visions of Francesca moving into the costume room and never leaving.

“Like in these apartments?”

“Maybe.” Dominique allows.

“Will you and Jesus still live here?” Francesca checks.  

“I don’t know.” Dominique admits.

“What kind of fun stuff do you do?” Francesca wonders.  She finally shrugs out of her backpack.

“Did you bring your homework?” Dominique asks, incredulous.

“It’s the only way Mama would let me come over…” she admits.  “If I’d get my homework done.  She’s the assistant principal  _and_  my mom so I  _have_  to do what she says,” Francesca wrinkles her nose.  “And Jesus tries to help, but he’s not good at fifth grade math either, so we both just get Ds, and I get in trouble.”

“Oh.  Well, I’m pretty smart.  I mean, if you want my help.”

“Sure!  I mean, if you want.  I’m really bad at homework though.”

“It’s all right.  I’m really bad at cleaning.  Can you tell?” Dominique asks under her breath in a funny voice, glancing around at the mess.

“I really can,” Francesca nods seriously.  “But, like, everybody needs help with something.  I’m pretty good at cleaning…” she offers.

Dominique clears off the table and pulls out a chair.  Offers Francesca water and a snack which she accepts.  “I have somebody who helps me already, but thank you so much for the nice offer.”

“You’re nice,” Francesca observes, licking Cheeto dust off her fingers.

“You’re nice, too.  Wanna get to that homework?”

“I guess,” Francesca sighs.

Dominique and Francesca work a few hours and Dominique immediately sees areas where Francesca struggles.  (Handwriting.  Tracking words on a page while she’s reading.  Comprehension with math or word problems.)  But Dominique takes her time, explaining concepts, reading directions out loud, and reassuring Francesca that she doesn’t need to erase every time she didn’t like her writing.

They get through Francesca’s weekend homework, plus the work she’s behind on in a couple of hours.  Francesca’s tired, but happy.  

“Now, I won’t get in trouble.  Except will you put a note on here that you helped, you didn’t do it for me?  When I do a good job suddenly, teachers think I cheated.”

Dominique makes a face.  “Teachers need to mind themselves…” she mutters.  “Don’t tell your teachers I said that,” she warns softly, scribbling a quick note on a Post-It and sticking it to Francesca’s School and Home folder.

“Now.  What do you say we do some fun stuff?” Dominique asks.


	29. Chapter 29

**_Scene II: The Story of Tonight_ **

Francesca, it turns out, has zero interest in costume making.  But she has 100% interest in trying on all of Dominique’s costumes.  

“Ohhh, I love these,” Francesca breaths, taking out her blue Sadness wig and glasses.  “Did you wear this for Halloween last year?  Or is this your costume for this year?”

“I wore that one…last week?”

“Last week?” Francesca’s confused.  “Halloween wasn’t last week.”

“Nope, but sometimes people dress up other times.”

“My moms say that’s not a thing,” Francesca says.  “When I used to want to go to school as Doc McStuffins in kindergarten they said I couldn’t because people wore clothes not costumes, except on Halloween.”

“People wear what they wanna wear,” Dominique says.  “As long as you don’t hurt anybody else, I’d say you’re okay to wear costumes.”

“Oh.  That’s probably why I couldn’t then.  Jesus used to be scared of costumes.” Francesca keeps going through bins.  Finds Katniss’s bows and arrows and adds them to her costume.  “Your mom lets you dress up?”

“The other day?  My mom dressed up  _with me_ ,” Dominique confides.  She shows Francesca a picture of Mom dressed as Maleficent.

“Whoa,” Francesca says, impressed.

“Can I take your picture?” Dominique asks.  She really does look too cute, dressing up in pieces of all of Dominique’s costumes.  She’s found Hermione’s scarf.  The wand.  And the frog that sometimes goes with Tiana.

Francesca poses.  Smiles.  Then says, “You’re just like Callie.”

“Jesus said that, too.  Because of the pictures?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like Callie taking pictures?” Dominique asks.

“She’s in college, so she doesn’t get to anymore.  Mostly I want her to post them on her Facebook, but Moms are really nervous about me having pictures up there before I’m thirteen.  It’s no big deal, but they think it is.”

“They’re trying to protect you,” Dominique allows.

“They can’t from everything,” Francesca says, matter of fact.  She takes off the scarf and asks Dominique where it goes.  “They can’t from kids at school who tease.  From teachers who are mean.”

“Teachers?  What do you mean?”

“The ones who think I must’ve cheated.  Or they treat me like a baby.  Or just totally different from the other kids.  Totally lower, you know?  Like ‘ _Everybody get up and go do this, somebody else do it for Francesca_.’”

“That sounds presumptuous,” Dominique insists, not happy.

“What does that mean?”

“It sounds like your teacher’s making decisions for you without asking you first.”

“Consent,” Francesca nods.  “They teach us a lot in school, but don’t care about that…”

Dominique’s eyes widen.  “How do you know about consent?”

“From Jesus,” Francesca shrugs, taking the wig off and putting it away.  “It’s really easy.  It just means ask first and if you hear yes that means a thing is okay.  If you don’t hear yes or if the person’s scared to say no, or if you have a weird feeling about why they agreed, then it’s not okay.  People act like it’s not for kids to know or something, but it is.”

“You’re right.  It is.  Kids should know about it,” Dominique comments quietly.

Francesca yawns.  “Do you have a book we could read together?”

“Let me see…  You ever read  _Harry Potter_?” Dominique asks, taking her well-worn copy off the shelf.

“No.”

“That wand belonged to one of the characters,” Dominique says.

“Nah-uh.  Seriously?” Francesca asks.

“Seriously.”  Dominique maintains.  She’s about ready to move to the living room couch when Francesca approaches her and the costume room chair with a blanket:

“Can we sit together here?” she asks.

“Sure.  Can I give you a boost?” Dominique asks.

Francesca nods, and Dominique pulls her back onto Dominique’s lap.  Francesca has Hermione’s wand.  Covers them both with the blanket.

“Okay,” she says finally.  “I’m ready.”

“ _Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much_.” Dominique intones.

“Sounds like my parents,” Francesca sighs, sounding weary.  “But nobody’s perfectly normal, are they?  Nobody’s perfect, and there’s no such thing as normal.”

“You are very smart,” Dominique says softly. “And you are very right.”

Dominique reads three chapters of  _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ before she realizes Francesca has fallen asleep on her lap.  She’s still clutching the wand in her hand.  Dominique can’t move much without waking her, so she just takes out her phone and snaps a black and white picture of Francesca’s hand against the blanket - the wand still in it.  The book cover’s visible, too.

She sends the picture to Jesus, with the text:

_Converting your baby sis into a Potterhead.  Sorry not sorry._

Right about then, Dominique remembers her phone volume and turns it down.  That way if Jesus, or anybody texts her back, the sound won’t wake Francesca (who breathes like Darth Vader, but Dominique would never say as much to her.)

She bides her time, reading the rest of  _Harry Potter_ as she sits there.  It’s a long time before Jesus texts back:

_Is that Frankie? What’s she doing there?_

_Dominique:_

_I guess she thought you knowing how bad she wanted to spend the night would be enough for you to change your plans?  She showed up at the apartment and said no one answered her call at your place._

_Jesus:_

_She didn’t leave a message.  I had no idea it was her._

_Dominique:_

_She called me.  She told me you told her to if you ever weren’t there._

_Jesus:_

_So sorry.  I won’t be home for a bit yet.  Are you fine w/ her?_

_Dominique:_

_I am.  Text when you’re back, don’t knock._

_Jesus:_

_Will do.  Thank you so much for taking care of her._

_Dominique:_

_Of course._

It’s near 11 PM before Jesus’s text comes through saying he’s back.  By then, Dominique has nodded off, too, and with the volume on her phone down, she doesn’t hear it.

She wakes up at twenty after six with her phone alarm.  Francesca jumps at the sudden noise, startled awake.  

“Hey.  Sorry,” Dominique apologizes.  

She finds a couple texts from Jesus, assuring Dominique he had stopped by and that she could drop Francesca off in the morning anytime, because he’s up early.

“I fell asleep on you,” Francesca offers, embarrassed.

“Yeah, well, that book was pretty good, right?”

She nods.  Stretches.  “Sorry if I crushed you…” she says, shy now.

“Not possible,” Dominique reassures.  “Don’t worry about it.  Want some breakfast? S’mores granola bar for the road?” Dominique checks, standing up from the chair.

“Oooh,” Francesca grins. “That’s, like, basically dessert.”

“It is.”

At Francesca’s request, Dominique reads her a little bit more  _Harry Potter_ and then Francesca offers to read aloud to Dominique while she gets ready for work.  It’s great, because she has no idea how to say any of the spells, so Dominique just fills it in because she basically knows the book by heart.

By 7:30, she walks Francesca across the hall.  “Thanks for hanging out with me,” Dominique offers.

“Thanks for letting me in,”  Francesca says seriously, wrapping her arms around Dominique.  “I’m sorry for not asking,” she says, still holding on.

“It’s okay,” Dominique says, squeezing Francesca back.

“I’m gonna ask Jesus to download that book on my Kindle.  Can you tell him which one it is?” she asks, as she knocks on the door with the loud as hell brass door knocker.

“Just tell him it’s the first Harry Potter book,” Dominique says.

Jesus finally opens the door, and before Dominique can open her mouth, Francesca’s talking a mile a minute:

“Guess what?  I met Dominique.  And I met Roberta.  And we dressed up and read  _Harry Potter_.  Dominique’s my friend now, too.”  Francesca pauses briefly for breath and checks behind her, looking to Dominique.  “Right?”

“Right. We’re friends,” Dominique nods.  “Francesca would like you to download  _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_  to her Kindle.”  She offers a tiny smile.

“Okay, you weren’t kidding with that text, were you?”

“I don’t kid about Harry Potter.”

“You wanna go to Avoidance?” he asks.

“I do!” Francesca insists.  “I’m in you guys’s friend group now, right?  So I can do what you do?”

“I actually have to go to work.  But I would love to take you to Avoidance if your brother says it’s okay sometime when I’m not working.  Maybe we could all go?  Mariana, too?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“And I am gonna be late.  Bye guys.” Dominique says, hurrying down the hall.

For the first time in days, she feels lighter.

From work, she texts Mom the picture of Francesca’s hand holding the wand Mom made forever ago.  With it, she sends the text:

_J & M’s sis. No triggers.  Must be magic, huh, Mom?_

Mom texts back:

_Must be.  Take it slow.  Take care.  Love you._


	30. Chapter 30

**_Scene III:  It Can’t Be True_ **

It’s Saturday night when Dominique is ripped from sleep by the ear-splitting ringing of the fire alarm in her apartment.  It takes all of one second for her to realize what this is.  Another second to jump down from her bed, glad to be in her shoes.  She spots Roberta’s scared yellow eyes in the corner of the living room and goes for her, grabbing her, and her key, and running for the door.

Dominique’s vaguely aware of people standing in their doorways.  All confused.  All unsure of what to do when the fire alarm goes off at 3:15 AM.  Dominique’s head is splitting, she can’t think.  She’s just opened the door to the stairwell, when Dudley zips past her down all the stairs, faster even than she can run.

Heart about to pound free of her chest, Dominique hits one landing.  Then, eventually another.  Finally, she finds herself on the first floor.  

She’s on her way out the doors when the apartment management - a lady in her 50s - bleach blonde hair - stops her.

“You should know better than coming down here!” she scolds.

Dominique’s ears actually hurt.  The alarm is piercing - easily the loudest thing she has ever heard - but she finds herself glad for it.  If it keeps her from having to ever encounter fire again in her life, Dominique will take it.

“You need to go back to your apartment.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Dominique insists.  She doesn’t think.  Just darts around Cindy - or whatever the hell her name is - and outside.  The noise is slightly less terrible out here.  She starts walking, Roberta’s claws digging into Dominique’s skin.

She thinks about going to Avoidance but that’s too far.  She wants to be around when the alarm stops.  She’s got work tomorrow.  Dominique hates this, just to be clear.  Being out late at night reminds her of being in the life.  Of a different kind of work.  She sees a flash of white in the dark, hears the clink of tags and squints.

“Dudley?” she whispers.

Roberta is still trying to climb Dominique.  “You behave,” Dominique warns her.  “We gotta get Dudley so he doesn’t run away from Jesus.”

It takes a while.  Dudley’s apparently just as skittish about the fire alarm as he is about Roberta.  And as both are still close by - and possibly a threat - he keeps Dominique at a distance.  

“Dudley, it’s me.  I’m Jesus’s friend.  Don’t you wanna go back to Jesus?” Dominique calls softly.  The dog has retreated to the far side of the building, in back, but at least there are lights back here.  He finally stops moving.  Stops cowering after the alarms get turned off inside.

It’s been half an hour.  Dominique is pissed beyond words that every fire safety lesson she was ever taught expressed the importance of evacuation, but that here, they were expected to stay put.  Not being able to escape is what caused her most painful physical injuries.  It meant months in the hospital.  Years of surgeries, and more to come in the future.  

In short, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that staying put in a potentially life-threatening situation is ludicrous.  No fireproof door is gonna help if fire eats through the wall.  Sprinklers won’t do a damn bit of good if smoke gets to her first.  Who in the hell reprimands a person trying to escape a fire to go back inside and wait it out?  A burn survivor, at that?

Dominique arrives at the third floor, shaking.  Dudley’s shaking at her side.  Roberta’s eyeing him from her perch over Dominique’s shoulder.  She kicks the door and calls inside, juggling the animals, afraid to let go of either one:

“Jesus?  It’s Dominique.  I’ve got Dudley.  I don’t have my phone.  If you’re up, can you please come to the door?”

Dominique waits.  Five seconds.  Ten.  Fifteen.  She turns away, prepared to somehow keep Dudley for a few hours in her own apartment until it’s not 3:47 AM anymore.  But the door opens, and Jesus is there, shaken.

He leaves the door ajar and Dominique lets go of Dudley as the dog darts inside.  Jesus, it seems, has forgotten all about the door, retreating inside.  Dominique leaves it open at her back and tentatively steps in.

“You okay?” she asks.

“No, not really,” he answers from the living room.  He paces into the kitchen.  Back.  Dudley’s at his side.

Jesus’s apartment is the total opposite of Dominique’s.  As it’s smaller, Dominique had expected clutter, but it’s sparse.  A futon in the living room.  A chair and a desk in what she would have assumed was the bedroom.  But there’s no bed to be found here.  She supposes it makes a kind of sense.  That he might feel more at ease sleeping somewhere open.  After everything.

“Oh.  Um.  I can go.  If you want.  Just wanted to drop Dudley off.”  She says finally.  Awkwardly.  Still juggling Roberta.

“She can walk around,” Jesus nods at Roberta.  “They got along fine at your house.”

“Oh,” Dominique casts a glance behind her at the open door.  “It’s okay.”  She’d always rather have an escape route than potentially stay in the company of somebody of the opposite sex, alone.  Even a friend.

Jesus is still making the rounds back and forth from living room to kitchen.  Sometimes he stops at the fridge, opens it and just looks for a while before he closes it again.  Dudley always keeps pace with him.  Is always at his side.

“Hey.  What’s your Twitter handle?” Jesus asks on about his fifth pass.

“Why?” Dominique asks, wary.

“Just a question.”

“I know that.  I wanna know why you’re asking.”  Dominique’s heart thuds in her chest.  She can only keep up this illusion of calm for so long before she breaks.

“You said you tweeted me.  Months ago, right?  I wanted to see if I could find it.”

“Why?” she asks again.  It’s ragged.  Her composure’s slipping.  She backs slowly toward the door.  “You mad?”

“No.  I’m not,” Jesus says, confused.

“You’re pacing.”

“Yeah.  ‘Cause I’m wired ‘cause of the fire alarm, not because I’m mad at you.  I’m glad you’re here.  That you brought Dudley.  I don’t wanna scare you.  So if the pacing’s hard for you to see, I can try to stop.”

“You sure?  You’re not mad?” she checks.

“Positive, yeah,” Jesus breathes.  He sits down on the futon and Dudley jumps up beside him.

Finally, Dominique inches the door closed, but doesn’t lock it.  “That lady make you stay inside?” she asks.

“Cindy?  Yeah,” he makes a face.  “It’s bogus because we’re supposed to be allowed to leave, right?”

“Yeah.”  Dominique pauses.  “Did Mariana tell you?  Like, anything?  About me?”

“She said she saw you a couple times.  That you asked if I’d keep my distance.  So that’s why I haven’t texted or called or met up at Avoidance except that one time.  Wouldn’t have bothered you at all except Francesca crashed at your place the other night.  She keeps asking to come back, by the way,” he smiles, rueful, almost apologetic.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Dominique admits.

“I’m just saying, I’m all about respecting your boundaries.  I love boundaries.  They’re kinda my favorite thing.  So…”

“Even if they’re not yours?”

“I dig other people’s boundaries, too.  They make me feel kinda like extra safe?  It’s people without any boundaries at all that make me nervous.” Jesus admits.  

“So…you wanna see my tweet to you…but…you’re not mad…” Dominique ventures, shaking her head like all the information shouldn’t fit together.

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.  “I wanna see it because I’m curious.”

“I’m @IMadeItToo,” Dominique finally allows.

Jesus is on his phone, scrolling.  In moments, he’s found it, and looks at her, shocked:

“ _I_  helped you survive?  Really?” he asks quietly.  Incredulous.

“Yeah…” Dominique admits, shy.

“I had no idea…”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” Jesus asks, confused.  “I mean, you lived.  If you needed help, that doesn’t make you weak, it just means you’re a human being.”

“No…I mean…I’m embarrassed because…when I was a kid, like you, I got tricked into a car.  When I got where they were taking me, they had news on all the time.  It seemed to always be about you.”

“When was this?” Jesus checks.

“Almost eleven years ago,” Dominique allows.  “October, 2009.  So, I was eleven,” she says at the same time as Jesus says:

“I was eleven.”

“Oh God, was that the triplet thing?” Dominique asks, half amused, half scared to have broken such a serious moment with a joke.

Jesus cracks a smile.  “Told you you’d be doing it soon, too.”

There’s quiet.  Dominique’s not sure he wants to hear anymore until he nods at her.  Says:

“You can keep going, if you want.  I’m listening.”

“The thing is…” she offers, cringing.  “You kinda used to be my invisible friend…”

“Oh,” he says.  Like he’s kinda surprised, but not much.  He’s not laughing in her face.  Not insulted.  Nothing she’d imagined.

“That’s it.  Just ‘oh?’” she checks.

“Yeah.” Jesus nods.  “I had one of those, too.  So I get it.”


	31. Chapter 31

**_Scene IV: They Live In You_   
**

Dominique can’t help it.  The question’s out of her mouth before she can stop it.  Irreverent.  Sarcastic.  “Your invisible friend?  It wasn’t me, was it?”

“No,” Jesus answers, not sarcastic at all.  He’s sad, almost grieving when he says:  “Like you, with me, he was real.”

“You really don’t think it’s weird?” Dominique checks.

“No.  I mean, we all have to cope,” Jesus maintains.

“I used to think…what was happening to me was happening to you, too…” Dominique admits.

“Was it?” Jesus checks.  “I mean, did I like, tell you it was?”

“No.  You never answered.  I just figured you weren’t answering because you didn’t wanna say it out loud.”

“Maybe  _you_  didn’t want to say it out loud,” Jesus ventures softly, no judgment.

Dominique exhales, impressed.  “That is….  That is very true…”  Silence again.  She should really go back across the hall but there’s something almost sacred about being awake when no one else is, and just talking.  Just being.  “My um…he used to make me call him my boyfriend…he used to always say everybody was looking for you, but nobody was for me.”

“He used to go search for me.  Talk to my mom.  While he had me locked in his basement…” Jesus shudders.  “He came back and told me about it once.  Brought me a pin with my face on it.”

Dominique shivers, too.  

“Only my parents were ever looking for me.  Cops decided I ran away.  Just turned eleven.  Straight-A student.  Happy at home.”

“That sucks,” Jesus says.  “And they looked for me…but they didn’t find me.”

“Nobody found me, either,” Dominique agrees.  

For a while, they just sit.  Jesus seems tired, and so is Dominique but neither one of them is willing to surrender to sleep.  Dominique’s sure it’ll bring nightmares after what went down tonight.

“Can I ask a question….I already asked?” Jesus asks, tentative.

“Are you asking  _me_?” Dominique wonders, surprised.  “You don’t need my permission, Jesus.  Ask whatever you want…”

“I know it’s just…trauma…  I could never ask anything.  And definitely could never repeat a question.”

“Well, it was damn scary earlier tonight.  But I don’t think you’re stupid.  And you’re not back there now ‘cause you didn’t have your awesome across-the-hall triplet then.  To be clear, you can absolutely ask a question.  Even if it’s a repeat.  Repeating can help the truth settle…at least I’ve found…”

“Yeah?” Jesus asks.

“Yeah.”

“Are we still friends?”  He looks terrified.  Like she’s definitely gonna say no.

“We are.  We’re friends.  According to you and Mariana, we’re triplets.  And that doesn’t go away when one of you has a tough day does it?  You don’t stop being there for Mariana?”

“No.”

“So, I won’t stop being there for you.  It might be hard sometimes.  I might need space.  I might feel safer with Mariana at times, like you do.  But I always wanna be your friend.  Do you wanna be mine?”

“Real friends.  Not invisible,” Jesus says, certain.

“No, not invisible.  We spent long enough like that,” Dominique yawns.  “I should go back,” she says, regretful.

“Hey…I’m glad I could be there for you.  To help, you know…” Jesus says.

“Yeah, thanks for being cool about it.  And for checking out the tweet.”  She scoops up Roberta, who’s fallen asleep in a corner of Jesus’s kitchen.  She keeps Jesus in sight, backing to the door, not able to break this old habit.

“I’m really sorry for not responding.  It really isn’t ‘cause I didn’t care.  I saw your tweet.  And it meant a lot to me.  I’m not some asshole who’s above all this, and all about his social media presence.”

“That’s not what I thought,” Dominique allows and then corrects herself.  “Okay, that kinda  _is_  what I thought…but…”

“You didn’t have the full information, and the pieces you did have left you with a lot of holes,” Jesus says simply.  “It’s okay.  I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Dominique nods.  “And it’s okay if you need to ask me stuff.  Even repeat questions,” she clarifies.

“You should go, you’re gonna be a zombie tomorrow…” Jesus encourages.

“Yeah, too bad I don’t have a costume for that.”

“Maybe Mom does,” Jesus grins.  “That was a seriously awesome costume she had.”

“I’ll let her know you appreciate it,” Dominique nods.  “‘Night, Jesus.”

“‘Night,” he says.

Back in her own place, Dominique locks the door behind her.  Picks up her phone and texts Mom.  

_Fire alarm.  No real fire.  But scared me.  Also Jesus likes your Maleficent costume._

_Mom:_

_You okay?_

_Dominique:_

_Mom.  I didn’t actually expect you to be up and text me back now.  Did I wake you?_

_Mom:_

_Of course I’m gonna text you back now.  Tell Jesus thank you when you see him.  Are you okay?_

_Dominique:_

_I gotta be up in an hour.  IDK if it’s even worth it to try and sleep right now or if I should get up for the day and buy a trenta sized iced white mocha to get me through._

_Mom:_

_If you can, try to get some rest.  Even if all you can do is lie down and breathe deep.  Sing something, maybe._

_Dominique:_

_Sing what?_

_Mom:_

_What do you feel?_

_Dominique:_

_Tired.  Happy.  Relieved.  Adrenaline._

Mom sends a voice note and Dominique plays it.  There’s Mom’s voice singing to her softly: “ _Here’s a little song I wrote.  You might want to sing it note for note, but don’t worry.  Be happy.”_

Dominique records her own voice, singing back: “ _In every life we have some trouble, but when we worry, we make it double.  Don’t worry.  Be happy.  Thank you, Mom_.”

She lays awake for an hour, feeling tense as her thoughts race, but she tries to do what Mom suggested and take deep breaths for a while.  It doesn’t work for her.  She keeps expecting the fire alarm to go off again.  Finally, she gives up and gets out of bed.  Her alarm will go off in ten minutes and Dominique turns it off.

Tries to find clean clothes for work, but her mind is elsewhere.  Talking to Jesus had been good.  Talking to Mariana never stopped being good.  Jesus still wants to be friends.  Mariana never stopped, and Francesca feels like a little sister that Dominique’s never had.

Domminique has a birthday coming up.  Maybe Jesus and Mariana (Francesca, too, if she wants,) can come and hang out at Mom and Dad’s then.

On a whim, she group-texts all three Adams-Fosters and asks what they think.

_So, my bday is on Saturday, October 3 and I was wondering if y’all wanted to do dinner at my house that night?  Don’t have to bring presents.  Just yourselves.  RSVP whenever._

On her break at work, Dominique checks her texts:

_Francesca:_

_I want to go.  I want to go to avoydense to._

_Jesus:_

_Wait.  Dom how did you get Fran’s number?_

_Francesca:_

_I gave it to her._

_Mariana:_

_I’m in._

_Jesus:_

_Me too, with questions._

Dominique smiles.  Texts the group back:

_Questions are welcome.  What do you say we go to Avoidance for a pre bday meeting.  Maybe Fri afternoon?_

_Francesca:_

_I am at school 330._

_Dominique:_

_We’ll have it after 3:30, Francesca, so everybody can come._

Francesca texts back a row of smiling emojis, plus hearts and a rainbow.  Then a picture of her Kindle with the first Harry Potter book loaded on the screen.

_This is so good did you read it all?_

_Dominique:_

_Maybe ;) (Yes.  Several times.)_

_Francesca:_

_OK don’t tell me what happens!!!!_

_Dominique:_

_Okay I won’t._

_Mariana:_

_What have you done to our sister? ;)_

_Jesus:_

_Excited for Avoidance + bday dinner w/ the fam._

Dominique smiles again:

_Me, too._

 


	32. Chapter 32

**_Scene V: We Go Together_ **

Friday, after work (and after 3:30 for Francesca), Dominique meets up with Jesus, Mariana and Francesca in the coffee shop parking lot. 

Sweats seem to be the name of the game today for all of them.  And gray sweats at that.  Jesus is in a green tee shirt with Oscar the Grouch peeking out of a trash can.  Mariana’s wearing a red tee shirt with a butterfly on it outlined in silver jewels. Dominique’s got a purple tunic-y thing on.  Francesca’s in another cute top with flowered leggings and cute grey and pink Nikes that match Dominique’s.  Her hair is in four braids with beads at the end.  The sight of it makes Dominique choke up a little.  Francesca’s top is yellow and pink this time.  She is easily the fanciest out of all of them.

“Hey, our shoes!  They match!” Dominique offers.

Francesca is not impressed.  “You guys said that this was Avoidance and it’s just a Coffee Corner.” She makes a face.

“We need to get this one some sugar,” Jesus decides.  “Too much time in school, buddy?”

“Yes,” Francesca pouts.  “And more homework.  I have Dominique’s birthday this weekend!  I can’t do tons of homework!  But of course my teacher doesn’t care about that…” she rants.

“I can help you out if you want.  Bring your bag to my parents’ tomorrow.  Or if you have it with you, we can do some at Avoidance…” Dominique offers.

“If it’s called Avoidance, aren’t we supposed to be avoiding stuff?  Like school?” Francesca presses.

“Good point,” Dominique nods.  She falls back a bit, into step with Mariana.  “You okay?” Dominique checks.

“I guess…” Mariana manages.  “Can’t really talk now,” she says.

Dominique takes in her tired expression.  She looks exhausted and maybe like something else is bothering her, but this isn’t the time or place to talk about it.  “Later?” she asks.  “When it’s just us?”

Mariana nods.

When they get inside, Dominique is quick to give Mariana an out.  “Hey why don’t you sit for a minute?” she asks, pulling out a chair, too.  “Jesus and Francesca look like they could use a minute to decide what they want anyway.  Do you just want the usual?” Dominique checks.

“I guess, yeah.” Mariana nods.

“Hey.  We’ll talk.  Promise,” Dominique covers Mariana’s hand with her own.  Still experiences a little shock of surprise when Mariana doesn’t pull away, but instead, finally looks Dominique in the eyes.

“You guys.  Jesus said we can all get frozen hot chocolates.  Just checking that’s what we all want,” Francesca checks, breathless.  “Also Jesus wants to buy a lot of food but I’m not sure if he wants that for us to share or for him for backup food…”

Dominique walks with Francesca back to the counter to help Jesus navigate the pastry case.  She’s lamenting the absence of the coffee cake when she realizes Awful Barista is working again.  Feels totally exposed here without a costume on.

Francesca brought a little money with her and wants to use it to buy a cookie.  And Dominique decides to get one, too.  She’s trying like hell to avoid Awful Barista and the stare he does where he pretends he’s not staring.

“That’s rude,” Francesca pipes up, as Mariana comes up behind Dominique.  Slips a hand into hers.  

Surrounded by friends like this, Dominique feels, for the first time, like maybe she’s okay out in public without a costume.  Francesca’s still dragging the barista.  Jesus and Mariana don’t seem inclined to stop her.

“What?” the barista asks, like he’s done nothing.

“You’re staring,” Francesca maintains.

“I’m not.  I’m just working.”

“You’re pretending not to but you really are.  Which makes it way worse,” Francesca insists.  

“So?” he asks, so softly none of the other customers can hear.

“So, that’s my friend and I know how it feels to be stared at.  Don’t do it,” Francesca’s obviously reached her limit with people’s nonsense today.  Maybe she’s drawing strength from having Dominique, Jesus and Mariana around her.  Whatever it is, it has Francesca speaking out when Dominique’s rarely heard her raise her voice.  She takes her cookie and turns so abruptly she almost loses her balance.  She catches herself on a nearby table.

Dominique hears it.  The awful barista, snickering

Francesca hears it, too.  Tries to hide the hurt on her face.

Jesus steps up to the counter, ready to tell the guy off, but Francesca’s insisting they just go.

So they do.

Walking to Avoidance, Francesca makes it clear she doesn’t want any of them to talk to her about what just happened.  Dominique gets that she doesn’t wanna cry in front of them.  She wants to be one of them, and she thinks they’re strong all the time.

Jesus is hanging back talking to Mariana, so Dominique falls into step next to Francesca.  “Thank you.  For saying something to that guy for me.  It was really brave, and I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Francesca says, her voice controlled.  She’s looking straight ahead, determined.

“You know, none of us were laughing…” Dominique offers quietly.

“Yeah, but there’s always gonna be some person who does…” Francesca comments softly.

“And that sucks,” Dominique agrees.  “But that’s why we’re going to Avoidance together, right?  So we can avoid mean people.”

“Except they’re kinda everywhere…” Francesca admits, sadly.

“Not at Avoidance,” Dominique says confidently and hopes that their picnic table hasn’t suddenly become a hotspot for assholes.  “Hard day?”  

“I had to do a presentation today with a partner.  We both had to hold our poster that we made while we talked about it.  When it was my turn to talk, I lost my balance and fell.  The poster ripped in half and everybody laughed.  Markus, my partner, was so mad that I ripped our poster even though it wasn’t on purpose.  He said Mrs. Lawrence should give me an N. That’s the lowest grade.”

“What did Mrs. Lawrence say?” Dominique wonders.

“Nothing.  She just looked at me like she was disappointed and didn’t know what to even do next.  She just called the next two people up.  She never even answered Markus.  So what if she does give me an N?  Mama’s gonna be so mad…”

“That was not your fault in class.  If she gives you an N for falling?  That would be wrong.”

“She’s the teacher, Dominique.  She makes the rules,” Francesca says, forlorn.  “Besides it wasn’t for falling, it was for wrecking our poster before she could grade it or we could even finish…”

“Which you wouldn’t have ever done on purpose.  You give an N to somebody who wrecked something on purpose.  Or who didn’t do the work at all.”

“Or somebody who has CP and everything  _Needs Improvement_ …” Francesca intones, angry.

“Hey,” Dominique stops and takes a knee in front of Francesca, and waving Jesus and Mariana ahead of them.  “You do not need improvement.  You are not the one who needs to change, all right?  They are.”

Francesca shrugs, looking away.  “I think it’d be easier if I just changed myself.  Then Moms wouldn’t say they don’t believe me when I don’t get math.  Or get mad when I get lost inside of my own school.  They say CP isn’t an excuse, and I have to figure it out.”

“I’m gonna tell you something.  CP?  Is totally an excuse.  Okay, maybe excuse is the wrong word.  But it’s a reason.  It’s called a disability for a reason, right?  Because it makes your brain have a hard time with some stuff.”

“How do  _you_  know that?” Francesca asks, suspicious.

“I work in a hospital.  I meet all kinds of people there.”

Francesca waits until Jesus and Mariana are far ahead of them, and whispers:  “Moms said it was hard enough having one kid with brain damage.  And they can’t believe they have two now.  I know it’s mean…but I don’t wanna be like Mariana…”

Dominique has no idea what to say.  Clearly, Francesca’s had a lot on her mind lately.  Has needed to talk to somebody, but with Jesus moved out, and just her and Mariana at home, it seems like their moms are not coping.  And taking that out on their daughters is not fair.

“Listen…everybody wants to fit in.  Right?  I know I do.”

Francesca nods.  

“But the world is full of people that are gonna tell people like you and me and Mariana and Jesus that the things we struggle with are just excuses, and we just need to try harder.  I want you to remember that it’s those people who need to change.  They’re the ones who need to try harder to understand us, not vice versa.”

“But I always feel like I’m wrong,” Francesca insists.

“I always feel like I’m wrong, too, babe.  It’s doesn’t mean we really are, though.  It just means people’s wrong attitudes are affecting us and making us feel bad about ourselves.”

Dominique stands up, and offers her hand.  

Francesca threads their fingers together.  

“I want you to remember something for me,” Dominique begins.  “You and Mariana are on the same team.”

“Because we both got brain damage, I know,” Francesca comments, irritated.

“Yes.  That’s not a bad thing, Francesca.  It means you know how it feels to have your moms say mean things about you.  It means you can help each other.  You’ve known what it’s like to live with CP your whole life.  Ten years.  This just happened to Mariana.  It’s all new for her.  She needs your support.”

“I don’t like how they look down on us…” Francesca admits.  

“No, I don’t either.”

“I think that’s why Jesus left, probably.  ‘Cause they did it to him.”

Dominique doesn’t say anything to that, but she does say: “When you hear your moms talking bad about you and Mariana.  That’s when you go to Mariana.  You two be together and build each other up.  Okay?”

“I guess…”

“Well, you think on it.  You had a rough day.  Oh look.  We’re here.”


	33. Chapter 33

**_Scene VI: I Should Tell You_ **

“You’re kidding.  Right?” Francesca insists.  “Avoidance is supposed to be cool!  That’s a picnic table at the park.  There’s not even a sign!”

“If you wanna come places with us, you probably shouldn’t insult them once you get here,” Mariana warns.

Francesca sticks her tongue out.

“Listen.  Why don’t you take Dudley?  Get your I-Pod and listen to some music.  Unwind.” Jesus suggests.

“Okay.  Come on, Dudley,” Francesca says, excited now.  She walks across the grass, the dog at her side and takes her I-Pod out of the cute rainbow-colored pack she wears around her waist.

Jesus doesn’t take his eyes off her - can see her the entire time - and watches as she retrieves her I-Pod and comes galloping back to the table.  She grabs her frozen hot chocolate  and turns on her music.  She dances in the grass.  Back over to the table for her cookie.  Away again.

Dominique can almost see the weight lifting off her thin shoulders.

“She okay?” Jesus asks.  

“I mean, relatively,” Dominique allows.

“Coping’s new for her.  Sometimes she needs a reminder to be able to decompress.”

“So, like all of us then…” Dominique insists.

“Francesca,” Jesus calls.  “I’m gonna take Dudley for a walk.  You wanna come?”

“Oh, yes!” Francesca insists, and they set off down one of the nature trails, leaving Dominique and Mariana at the picnic table.

They sit in silence for a while until Mariana speaks:

“So, you heard?” Mariana asks.

“What?”

“That Moms hate having us…”

“I did,” Dominique cringes.  “That sucks.”

“It’s not just that…” Mariana ventures.

“They said more than that?” Dominique asks, horrified.

“Well, I’m sure… I just mean…Francesca…  She’s started…I mean…I can’t…”

“Francesca’s doing something?” Dominique tries.

Mariana nods.  

“Judging by your face it’s something you don’t like….” Dominique offers, sympathetic.

“Like…  I don’t know how to say it…”

“It’s okay.  We’ve got time.  And she’s with Jesus.”

“No, I mean, I don’t know the word.  And it’s that.  When I don’t know.  Or when it takes me time, like this, to get a point across…”

“She does something then?”

Mariana nods.

“You want me to try to help fill it in?  What you’re going for?”

Another nod.

“Does she make fun of you?” Dominique guesses.

“Yes.  Like…imitates…how I sound.  Laughs.  Moms don’t stop her.  I think it’s because she’s heard Mom do it.  Say, “Come on, Mariana, get to the point.”

“So maybe it’s hard hearing her stand up for me…” Dominique allows.

“No.  I’m glad.  Just…it’s hard.  She gets along so well with Jesus.  Respects him.  But she doesn’t respect me. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe your parents started out respecting your brother, but something happened?”

“Or maybe they never did, and I’m just not respect-whatever now.”

“You are totally worth respect now.  I love hanging out with Francesca, but she does need to know that that’s not okay.  I was thinking about…when we actually meet…that I’d lay out some ground rules.  Maybe we could each offer one.  Like a boundary or an accommodation that would help each of us feel safe or respected.  I was wondering if it might be easier for you to tell me yours now?”

“Yeah,” Mariana nods.  “If you could all take turns talking?”

“That’s good.  Yeah.  And I’ll make sure and lead off with how we don’t mock each other here or anywhere else.  I won’t call her out directly unless you want me to.”

“No.”

“But I’ll make sure she gets the message.”

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, I haven’t really been available lately.  I’m gonna try to be better about that.”

“You’re fine.”

“I didn’t text you back…I told you I would…” Dominique allows.

“Not on purpose, though…” Mariana checks.

“No, not on purpose.” Dominique nods.

“Then you’re fine,” Mariana repeats.

“Okay.  I still wanna be friends with you.  By the way.”

“Good.  I still wanna be friends with you.” Mariana repeats.

“With all of you, and that means we all respect each other, little sis included, right?”

“She needs to learn,” Mariana insists.  

As if Mariana’s voice has conjured her, Francesca appears then, with Jesus and Dudley.  Time walking and talking with Jesus seems to have done Francesca good.  She seems happier.  Lighter.  Dominique wordlessly moves to Mariana’s side of the table.  She wants Mariana to feel supported right now, and offers her hand under the table.  Mariana holds it.  No hesitation.  (That’s got to be the best part about being friends with these guys.  None of them think twice about touching her.  Dominique’s almost forgotten what that felt like.)

“When are we having the meeting about your birthday tomorrow?” Francesca wonders, sitting down on the opposite side of the table with Jesus.

“Right now, but I wanna talk to you guys about something first.  Avoidance is a special place where all of us can come to feel safe and seen.”

“Blah, blah, blah, okay! We know,” Francesca sighs.

“Hey.  This is serious, okay,” Jesus urges in a whisper.  “If you’re uncomfortable, you can say that, but we don’t mock each other here.”

“That is just what I was gonna say.  We don’t make fun of each other.  Here or anywhere.  Lots of other people already do that, right?  Part of being friends is trusting each other.  Feeling safe.  And we can’t all feel safe, if we’re afraid one of us might start teasing another.  If we don’t all feel safe, we might not ask the teaser to join us next time we do something fun.”  Dominique finishes.

She gets that it might seem a little harsh, but it’s like Mariana said.  Francesca needs to learn.  And ten years old is old enough to start taking responsibility for the words she speaks and accepting that she has the power to hurt people.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Francesca whispers.  “Please, can I still come to your birthday party?”

“You can.  But believe me when I say that I am serious.  Jokes are only funny if both people think they are.  So, we don’t tease each other here, and we don’t tease each other when we’re not here.  Deal?” Dominique checks, looking to each face in turn.

“Okay,” Francesca nods.  “Deal.”

“Deal,” Jesus and Mariana chorus.

“And I’m sorry for teasing you last night, Mari.  I won’t anymore,” Francesca says.  It’s obvious that either Dominique’s words have made an impact, or Francesca wants to make sure she can still go to Dominique’s party tomorrow night.

“What did you say to Mariana last night?” Jesus asks, his eyes darkening a little.

“It’s fine, Jesus.  Frankie, thanks.”  Mariana says.

“So, when are we talking about the party?” Francesca wonders.

“Right now.”


	34. Chapter 34

**_Scene VII: You Will Be Found_ **

Dominique glances briefly at Jesus and Mariana.  Neither one seem inclined to speak first, so Dominique keeps talking.  “I thought, if it’s okay with everybody, we could talk about accommodations and boundaries.”

Mariana looks exhausted, but Jesus’s face lights up at the mention of boundaries.  Francesca raises her hand.

“Yes?” Dominique asks, smiling.  “You don’t have to raise your hand here.”

“Oh,” Francesca says, sheepish.  “Well, I was wondering…what’s accommodations mean?”

“That’s a great question,” Dominique insists.  Again, she looks to Jesus and Mariana.  They nod at Dominique.  “Accommodations are what it’s called when things are made safe or possible or both, for people like us.”

“People with CP and brain injuries and trauma and scars?” Francesca wonders.

“Right.”

“Like, when you were little, you needed our stair railing fixed.  And carpet laid down so you wouldn’t slip,” Jesus fills in.  “Because without those things, it wasn’t safe for you to go up and down stairs at home.  That was an accommodation.”

“I thought that was just normal,” Francesca shrugs, a mirror image of Jesus and Mariana when they do the same.

“Well, you’re right.  It should be normal,” Dominique says.  “But there are different ones for different people.  Because everybody needs different things.  So I thought we could take turns and each talk about things we need as far as accommodations.”

“And no teasing,” Francesca remembers seriously.

“Definitely not.  This is a safe space,” Dominique nods.  Then turns.  “So, Mariana, do you wanna go first?”

“Sure…” Mariana ventures quietly.

“Is there anything you can think of that you’d need as far as accommodations?” Dominique asks.

Mariana opens her mouth.  Glances at Francesca.  Closes it.  “I don’t know…” she admits.

“It’s okay.  We wanna help,” Dominique encourages.  “You told me one when Jesus and Francesca were away from the table.  You wanna share that one?”

This time, Mariana just sits.

Dominique waits, patient.  “We have time.  Right?” she sends a look Francesca’s way.  Nods.

“Yeah, Mariana, we have a lot of time, actually,” Francesa offers.

“Talking…” Mariana manages finally, glancing at Dominique.

“You’re doing fine,” Dominique encourages, squeezing her hand.  “Do you want me to tell them?”

Mariana nods.

“So we were talking before, and Mariana mentioned how it would help her if we each took turns talking.  And didn’t talk over each other.”

“That’s a good one, yeah.” Jesus nods.

“Don’t laugh…when I…when this…” Mariana tries.

“Don’t laugh when…” Dominique fills the silence.

“When this…”

“Don’t laugh when you’re trying to find the right words,” Jesus fills in softly, knowing.

Mariana nods.

“Right.  We all know better than to do that here, don’t we?” Dominique looks to Francesca and Jesus in turn.  “We don’t laugh when somebody’s having a hard time.  We help them out.  We listen.  Anything else?”

There’s a long silence and then Mariana manages: “It’s too…  Too….”  She spreads her hands far apart from each other.

“It’s too broad.  Go more specific,” Jesus interprets.

Francesca thrusts her hand in the air and waves it around.  Mariana nods at her. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting, but are Jesus and Dominique accommodationing you  _right now_?” Francesca asks, excited.

“Yeah,” Mariana manages.

“Ohhhh, I think I get it.  Like when I lost my balance before.  You guys didn’t make fun of me.  You helped?  Is talking for you like balance is for me?”

“It is,” Mariana sighs, relieved.

“Oh. So, like, when we go to Dominique’s house tomorrow, would you need a hand on the steps?” Francesca asks.  “Sometimes I do.”

“Yeah…if there’s no railing…that’d be good…” Mariana smiles.

It’s right about now that Dominique notices Jesus with his phone out.  Everyone else notices, too.  

“What’s up?” Dominique asks.

“Oh.  I’m taking notes.  So I remember everybody’s accommodations.  Keep going, Mari.  I’m listening.”

“It’s still hard,” Mariana breathes.  “I’m nervous.”

“Because Mom teased you?  And I laughed?” Francesca asks.

“Yeah,” Mariana nods.

“Mom should know better.  She’s an adult.  Even older than you guys, right?” Francesca presses.  “So she should for sure know not to make fun of people.”

“Yeah.  She should.” Jesus nods.

“But I’m not going to make fun of you anymore,” Francesca promises.  “Because I want to keep coming places with you guys and being in your friend group.”

“What about respect?” Dominique asks, curious.

“What do you mean?” Francesca asks, trying to suck the drops out of the bottom of her hot chocolate cup.

“I mean, you’re not just being nice to your sister so you get to go places with us.  You respect her?”

Francesca bites her lip.

“Buddy,” Jesus says, quietly.  “You respect  _me_?”

“Yes,” Francesca nods.

“Okay.  And you know I have trauma stuff, right?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods.

“Well, that trauma changed my brain.  It made me react differently - sometimes in bigger ways - to things that seem small to other people.  Do you think less of me for that?  For struggling with stuff that comes easy to most people?”

“No.  That wasn’t your fault.  It was the bad guy’s fault.” Francesca says, matter of fact.

“CP isn’t your fault.  It’s just something that happened.  A part of you.  Right?”

Francesca nods again.

“The car accident wasn’t Mari’s fault, Francesca.  And even if it was, we wouldn’t ever lose respect for her because she has a head injury and some stuff’s hard for her now that’s easy for us.”

Francesca blinks back tears. Looks at Mariana.  “When Moms treat you bad, it makes me scared, because they’ll laugh at me, too.  And I don’t know what to do, so sometimes I laugh and do it too, because it feels safer to be with them on their side.  We can’t really protect each other.  It’s not like this everywhere.  Avoidance doesn’t go with us.”

Mariana gets up and walks around the table to Francesca.  Scoots her to the middle of the bench as Mariana sits down.  Puts an arm around her.  “No matter whose side you’re on.  I’m always going to be on yours.”

“But I’m mean and awful.  And I can’t do math,” Francesca whimpers.

“Sometimes, I’m mean and awful, too,” Mariana manages, around a lump in her throat.  “And I can’t do math either.  I love you.  Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Love and respect?  Should always exist together,” Dominique says quietly.  “If love exists without respect, it can be very dangerous.  Because without respect, love’s not really love at all.”

“That’s too deep for me to understand….” Francesca admits, wiping her eyes.  She’s still cuddled against Mariana.

“That’s okay,” Dominique reassures.

“Listen. If you or Mariana ever feel unsafe at home or need a meeting at Avoidance, reach out to me or Dominique, please, okay?  I’ll come get you,” Jesus all but begs.

“Or I will,” Dominique insists.

“And we can all be together, okay?  You guys shouldn’t be alone with that crap,” Jesus says resolutely, wrapping an arm around Francesca and Mariana.

There’s silence again as Mariana eventually returns to sit beside Dominique.  She notices as Mariana looks at her.  

“So, it’s still Mariana’s turn,” Dominique nods.  “Is there anything else you might need us to know for here.  Or for home?”

“Heads or tails,” Mariana says, exasperated.

Dominique offers a confused smile.  “Are you saying, choose one?  Ask about here or home, not both?”

“Please,” Mariana nods.

“Okay.  So for here.  Anything else?”

“I might need to…hmmm” Mariana thinks.  “I know I said take turns.  That we should talk one at a time.  But…I might need to…like speak out?”

“Speak out of turn?” Jesus clarifies.  “Like interrupt?”

Mariana nods, pointing at him.  “Right, because I might remember something I need and if I don’t say it then, it’s gone.  I know it seems rude.”

“You can talk more now,” Francesca observes.

“Yeah,” Mariana acknowledges.  “Because I’m less nervous.”

“It’s okay if you need to interrupt us.  Isn’t it?” Francesca checks with Jesus and Dominique.  “Because it wouldn’t be rude.  Like sometimes if I start tipping over, I catch myself on Jesus just because I need to.  Not to be rude.”

“Right.  You need to be safe.  And I get that.  And we get that sometimes, Mariana might need to interrupt one of us and tell us something right then.  For her to be safe.”

“Yup,” Francesca nods.

“Anything else for my house?” Dominique checks.

“Quiet?” Mariana offers.  “Sometimes, I just need a break from the noise…”

“Oh yeah.  You can always go hang out in my room there.  I’ll show you where it is.”

“Okay, somebody else please go,” Mariana insists.  “I talked enough.  Thanks, you guys, though.  For listening.”


	35. Chapter 35

**_Scene VIII: If I Loved You_ **

“Can it be my turn now?” Francesca asks, with her hand raised.

“Sure,” Dominique nods.

“Um…I don’t know what to say…” Francesca admits, giggling.

“That’s okay.  Would you maybe need a hand on my front steps, since there’s no railing there?”

“Mm-hmm,” Francesca nods.  “So….” she continues uneasily.  “I’m not sure if this is one of those things you said or not,” Francesca looks to Dominique.

“Accommodations?” Dominique clarifies.  “That’s alright.  You can always bring something up.  If it’s something you need, we wanna help you get it.”

“Well, like…I don’t really  _need_ -need it,” Francesca admits.  

“We wanna hear it anyway,” Dominique encourages.

“It’s just…could you guys wait for me?  But not like, the way that you’re so annoyed about it, I mean, like, walk the same speed as me, so we’re all the same and nobody gets left behind because that hurts my feelings, and–”  All Francesca’s words are out in a rush.  She seems almost frantic.

“Hey.  Buddy.  It’s okay. Breathe,” Jesus cues, and Dominique’s a little shocked when Francesca does.  Drawing in a slow deep one and letting it out.  “When we’re together, we’ll walk together.  Or at least two and two, so no one’s last.  Will that work?  We don’t want you to have to feel stressed about keeping up with us.”

“Definitely.  We’d never leave you behind,” Dominique promises.

“Would you get mad that I’m slow?” Francesca checks.

“No,” Mariana says, certain.  

“We don’t want you to worry about keeping up.  We want you to be able to enjoy what we’re doing.” Dominique says.  “It’s gotta be hard to do that when you’re worried people are gonna get impatient with you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you slow down, though?” Mariana asks Francesca.  “It’s hard to keep up when you go so fast.”

“I feel like I have to talk fast, and I don’t know how to slow down because I just feel like everybody’s tired of whatever I say, so I have to go fast before they don’t care anymore, and plus I always have to go fast anyway, or people get mad–” Francesca seems fit to go on forever without taking a single breath.

“Pause,” Jesus says calmly.  

(Dominique has no idea what this is, but she’s shocked when Francesa not only stops but breathes again, deliberately.)

“You don’t have to talk fast,” Jesus insists softly.  A bit more slowly than he usually speaks.  “You don’t have to, because we care about what you’re saying.  We wanna listen.  We wanna hear you.  Just like you don’t have to walk fast with us?  You don’t have to talk fast, either.  We’re here.  We won’t leave.”

“I don’t know how…” Francesca says, sounding tearful.

“Okay.  Come here with me,” Dominique offers.  “You want to?”

Francesca nods.  Gets up.  Accepts the hand Dominique’s offering and they walk away far enough that they have some privacy.  Sit on a bench that’s not Avoidance but not the rest of the world either.

“You’re having a hard time with this,” Dominique observes.

“Yes, because Mariana needs me to do something I can’t do, and if I can’t you guys might kick me out of the group!”

“Babe, listen to me, okay?  The only way we wouldn’t ask one of us to join in?  Is if that person were mean  _on purpose_.  If you make a mistake, that’s okay.  Forgetting for a second is okay.  Trying as hard as you can and not being able to do something the first time?  That’s okay.  Slowing down takes practice.  Especially when you’re used to spending all day trying to keep up.  Trying to get people to see you for who you really are.”

Francesca nods, wiping her eyes.

“Your brother and sister and me?  We see you.  You don’t have to work so hard with us.  It can be easy.  It’s okay to take your time.”

“I literally can’t, though.”

“You want me to show you?”

“No teasing?” Francesca checks.

“Zero teasing.” Dominique reassures.

“Okay.”

“Okay.  What helps me…is to practice…putting in really obvious pauses…every few words,” Dominique demonstrates.  “You wanna try it?”

“I’m shy…” Francesca admits, looking away.  “Like everybody’s looking at me, knowing I messed up and I can’t fix it, and I can never fix it–”

“Count to three in your head,” Dominique cues gently

Francesca does, mouthing “One, two, three.”

“Good.  What were you saying?”

“I can’t fix it?” Francesca offers.

“You’re worried if you can’t do everything like you should, we’re gonna leave you out.”

Francesca nods.  “It’s what always happens.”

“But we’re working on it together,” Dominique encourages.  “I know it’s really hard to let your guard down.  To be who you really are inside, instead of who you need to be at school or at home.  But everybody needs a place they can just be them.  You have that with us.”

Francesca studies the ground under their feet.  “It feels not-real.”

“I bet,” Dominique nods.  “When you don’t have something you need and suddenly get it?  It’s hard to believe it, right?”

“Mm-hmm.  I wish you were my sister,” Francesca confides.

“I wish  _you_  were  _my_  sister,” Dominique echoes.  “I think Jesus and Mariana are so lucky to have a little sister like you.”

“Really?” Francesca asks.

“And I think friends can be family, too.  If they wanna be.  I think we can choose who we let close to us and inside our lives.  I’d really like you to be in my life.”

“I don’t have to get everything right?” Francesca asks, skeptical.

“No, you do not.  No one gets everything right.  In order to be family - at least for me - all it takes is practicing being a safe person.  Listening, believing, respecting, not teasing.  Mistakes are okay.  That’s how we learn.”

“Life is really hard for me,” Francesca admits.  “Because of how nobody is a safe person.  Not even my moms…”

“You have safe people, babe.  You have Jesus and Mariana and me.  And tomorrow, you’ll get to meet my parents.”

“Are they safe?” Francesca checks.

“ _I_  think so.  I got pretty lucky in the parent department,” Dominique smiles.

“I got pretty lucky in the sister-department,” Francesca allows, leaning against her.  After a minute, she pulls back:  “Do you think I used up my turn?” she asks.

“No.  Like I told Mariana.  There’s time.  There’s time for you, too.  A lot of it.  As much as you need.”

They stand together and walk back to the table.  Jesus and Mariana are there talking.

“Hey guys,” Mariana greets.

“Hey, sorry.  I practiced slowing down for you…” Francesca admits, ducking her head.

“You did?” Mariana asks, touched.

“Yeah, so I can do the thing for you now.  You know?  Help each other?”

“I’d love that,” Mariana smiles.

“Is it still my turn?” Francesca asks.

“It is,” Jesus nods.

“Okay so…um…what if…I don’t know what I need…until later?” Francesca wonders.

“This is a conversation that’s always open.  We can always add more to it.  It’s not like once we stop talking about it today, we can never do it again.  So, if you think of something later you can bring it up.  To Jesus, Mariana or me.  Or to my parents.”

“They let you talk about that stuff?  Like, without getting mad?”

“They do,” Dominique nods.  “They’re cool.”

“Okay.  I think I’m done for now,” Francesca admits.

They pause for a bit, and then Dominique looks to Jesus.  “Do you wanna go next?”


	36. Chapter 36

**_Scene IX: Maybe_   
**

“Okay…I guess I’ll go next…” Jesus ventures.  

“I’ll take notes on my phone,” Dominique reassures.  “So we don’t forget anything.  It’s not pictures,” she shows him the empty memo screen.

“That’s fine,” he nods.  “Actually, that’s a big one.  And I don’t wanna seem rude to your parents, because they’re so nice but…I need them not to just take pictures with me in them.”

“Yeah, they need to ask, not just do it.” Francesca adds, knowingly.

And if they do ask and take them…I need to be in charge of where pictures of me go…like…social media wise…”

“Okay,” Dominique nods.  “I’ll make sure they know that.”

“Also…” Jesus hesitates.  “Francesca…because it’s your first time at Avoidance you wouldn’t know this…but what we discuss here?  Is private.  That means we won’t go around telling Moms what you say or anybody else. I need you to promise me that you won’t talk about stuff that’s hard for me with other people.”

“Okay, I promise,” Francesca agrees.

“Do you get why?” Jesus presses.

“Because it’s private?” Francesca guesses.

“That’s definitely part of it.  You know how we don’t take pictures without asking first?  And we don’t touch each other without asking first?  Sharing private information about stuff somebody finds hard is like that.  You need to ask that person first out of respect for that person.”

“So this counts for all of us?  Me, too?” Francesca asks.  “You guys won’t tell Moms what I say here.”

“I think we can agree,” Dominique speaks up, looking to each of them in turn.  “That we’ll respect this boundary for all of us.  The one exception being if you talk about hurting yourself or somebody else.”

“But that’s private…” Francesca says flatly.  “Some people don’t like other people knowing that.”

Dominique feels a chill run over her body.  Lets her glance trail from her phone screen to the inside of her own wrist where a tattoo simply reads  _4/26/11_.  She glances back at them, reeling.   _How can a ten-year-old struggle with hurting herself?_   But Dominique knows how.  She knows exactly how.

“That’s true,” Jesus nods.  “And I understand that Moms aren’t the safest people in the world to tell.  But we may have to tell another adult sometime, if a situation is too big for us.”

_Tell another adult…tell another adult…tell another adult._..the words reverberate in Dominique’s head.

_(She comes to briefly in the ambulance.  Long enough to rasp out from behind the oxygen mask:  “My name is Dominique Williams.  My parents are Jaimie and Michael.”  She gives her Mom’s cell number from memory.  “Please call them…” she begs before passing out again.)_

Dominique refocuses as Mariana squeezes her hand.  She glances Mariana’s way and can read concern on her face.  Raised eyebrows, asking silently, whether Dominique’s okay.

Sending a nod, Dominique tunes back into Jesus and Francesca.  Still going back and forth about the possibility of telling their Moms if Francesca’s mentioned hurting herself.

“But that’s not fair.  You don’t have to tell them if it’s you!” Francesca’s indignant.  “Only I do?  No!”

“I gotta walk around,” Jesus says abruptly.  “Come on, Dudley.”

“You guys okay here?” Dominique asks, and Mariana nods.  Francesca’s got her head down on the table.

“Jesus?  Is it okay if I walk with you?” Dominique calls.  “I mean…assuming you’re not mad that she just said that to me?”

He shakes his head no.  

“No, I can’t come, or no, you’re not mad?” she checks.

“Not mad.  You can come,” Jesus says softly.

Dominique falls into step, not too close to him, just in case.

“If you’re not mad, what is it?” she asks.

“I’m embarrassed,” he admits, looking at the ground.

“Of what?” Dominique asks, honestly wondering.

“That she told you…” Jesus ventures.

“ _That_?” Dominique asks, incredulous.  “Why are you embarrassed about me knowing that, Jesus?  I saw your wrists, remember?  You showed me.”

“I showed you…what  _he_  did…” Jesus begins.

“You showed me the scars he gave you, but there were others.  Ones I recognized because it’s not just you and Francesca who struggle this way, okay?  I have, too.  Not for a while.  But I have.  So please don’t be embarrassed.”

He clears his throat.  “So Mariana and Francesca know this, but I used to not be too big on wrapped stuff.  I hated not being able to see what was inside…”

“Costumes…” Dominique muses, thinking back to what Francesca said about Jesus being afraid of people in costume.  Wonders if it’s the unknown aspect of being around an object also disguised would put Jesus off.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.  Go on.”

“So, it hasn’t really been a thing for a while…and I don’t want my accommodations to wreck your day…it’s just that it’s not just the wrapping.  I have trouble with certain things people might get as gifts.  Luggage or anything with a long zipper.”  

Dominique shudders at the mention, but if Jesus notices he doesn’t comment.

“With the mess that’s there afterward.  I used to struggle a lot more with this, but when I feel panicked, I clean?  And when I clean like that?  It gets out of control fast.”

“Well, first, I meant what I said before.  You guys don’t have to bring gifts.  And if my parents give any, I can open them beforehand.  How’s that?  ‘Cause I do not want to send you into a cleaning panic.”

“That sounds good…if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“I’m sure and it’s still your turn.  We should go back when you’re ready…”

Jesus turns and they take their time heading back to Avoidance.

“I was gonna ask you…” Dominique ventures and she can see Jesus tense.  “It’s nothing bad, okay?  Promise.”  She takes another step away from him.  Her heart’s pounding.  “Are you mad?”

“No.  Scared,” he manages.  “When most people ask questions, they suck.”

“Well, I’m not them.  I’m an Avoider like you.  My question’s not rude.  It’s not even about you.”

“Okay…”

“I know Francesca’s worried about your moms knowing.  How would you guys feel about my parents being the go-to people about this specifically?  They’ve dealt with it before. They get what it is.  What it’s not.  They wouldn’t make her feel bad.”

“I just…don’t know how Moms would feel…” Jesus ventures.

“I get that.  But the point is to be able to have people we trust available to us if Francesca’s in trouble.  And I think she’s saying she doesn’t trust your moms as safe people who wouldn’t judge the hell out of her if they knew she struggled like this.  I mean, do  _you_  trust them in that way?” Dominique risks a glance at him.

“I don’t. No,” Jesus shakes his head.

“So…I don’t mean to be an ass here, but how can we expect her to trust adults that  _we_  would never trust?  She’s a kid, Jesus.  Learning about boundaries and accommodations and safe people.  It’s a lot for her.  And threatening her with telling your parents this before she’s really ready for them to know?  It’s only gonna isolate her more.  If we’re asking her to respect our boundaries, we need to respect hers, don’t we?”

“Yeah.  You’re right,” Jesus nods.

“You’ve been working with her on coping.  I’ve been talking to her.  She knows that she and Mariana are on the same side now.  That’s something.  She’s got people.  Are you okay if I talk to her about mentioning it to my parents?  Maybe I can drive over with her?  You and Mariana can ride together?  If Francesca’s okay with it?”

“Yeah, if Francesca wants to, she can.  Can we follow you there again?  Not in a creepy way?”

Dominique nods.

They get back to the table and sit down.  Francesca’s playing a game on Mariana’s phone.

“Hey.  So, don’t worry about talking to Moms about that,” Jesus whispers to Francesca.

She shifts away, not ready to forgive him yet.

“You wanna ride with me to the party tomorrow?” Dominique asks Francesca.  “I have something I wanna ask you.  In private.”

Francesca glances up, guarded, but curiosity gets the better of her and she is nodding her head yes before she even knows it.


	37. Chapter 37

**_Scene X: Masquerade_ **

Since Jesus isn’t about to share any more boundaries or accommodations, Dominique begins awkwardly:  “I guess it’s my turn…”

Jesus picks up his phone to take more notes, and dread hits her as Dominique studies Francesca across from her and Mariana at the table.  She’s tracing an outline on the wood with her finger, and Dominique isn’t sure why but suddenly fear is there.  Old wariness.  Because what if Francesca were to trigger her, even now?  Like, what if, tomorrow, when she went to pick her up in the car, that was too much?

She knows what she’s gotta ask, but she has to be careful.  Dominique can’t very well make Francesca feel responsible for this trigger she’s not in control of.  She can’t help her looks.  Her age.

“So, the first thing I need you guys to know is, like if I could have a heads up when you’re coming over?  Even if we planned it out first.  It’s not like I’d be looking to bail on you.  It’s just…I like to know what’s coming.   _Who’s_  coming.”

“So, say, like, ‘This is Francesca.  I’m coming for your birthday.  Is that still okay?’ Francesca offers in a flat voice, her chin resting awkwardly on the table.

“Yeah.  That’d be great,” Dominique smiles.  “Also, just so you guys know.  Even though it’s a birthday party,  there won’t be any candles on the cake.”

“Because 22 is super old?” Francesca asks, as if she already knows the answer.

“No,” Dominique answers, offering a nervous smile.  “Because candles make me scared.  So, when they’re not there tomorrow, that’s why,” she says, looking to Francesca.  “And I’d rather just not talk about it at all then.”

“Can I ask one question now, though?  It’s not to tease,” Francesca reassures.

“Sure,” Dominique nods.

“But she doesn’t have to answer you if she’s not comfortable,” Mariana puts in, soft.

“I know,” Francesca nods.  “It’s just…if you don’t have candles on your cake, how do you make your birthday wish?”

“That’s a really good question.  I don’t know the answer,” Dominique admits.  “I guess being with people I care about always felt like enough.  A birthday wish would just kinda feel extra.”

“Oh yeah, like, selfish?” Francesca nods.  “Like, oh I got all these presents, but that’s not enough because I need everything?  That would be kinda rude, right?”

“I mean, I don’t judge people who do make birthday wishes.  It’s just not something I personally do.”

“It’s okay.  It’s your choice,” Francesca reassures.

“So we’re going to respect what you’re saying right now and not bring up birthday candles tomorrow at the party, right?” Jesus looks to Mariana and Francesca in turn (just so it doesn’t seem solely for Francesca’s benefit.)

Francesca mimes locking her lips and tossing a key over her shoulder.

“Okay.  Thanks.” Dominique nods.

“Anything else?” Mariana checks.

“Those were the main ones, I think?” Dominique considers.  “If I think of any more, I’ll text you guys.”

“It’s lucky I already know Jesus and Mariana’s boundaries and accommodations, because Dominique doesn’t have that many and that’s easy to remember,” Francesca smiles.

“So what do you say we just hang out for a while longer?” Jesus asks.

“And what do we do now?” Francesca asks.

“Whatever helps you relax and be calm.  We can talk or you can listen to your music.  We can go on another walk with Dudley…” Jesus offers.

Francesca slides off the picnic bench and under the table.  “I just wanna be with Dudley under here for a while.  But he’s still yours, Jesus, I know.” Francesca says.  “I won’t distract him if you need him.”

“Thanks, buddy.  I’m just gonna draw up here, then.” Jesus nods.

“Okay.  Dominique and Mariana, what are you gonna do?” Francesca wonders.

“I’m not sure yet.  I might write something though,” Dominique offers.

“Sitting’s good for me,” Mariana insists.  “I like the quiet.”

Dominique turns to a fresh page, and, as she does sometimes, just writes whatever comes to her.  The date on her wrist.  And the memory of identifying herself for the EMTs in the ambulance has opened up that world to her again:

_No potion can_

_Cure this_

_I am poisoned_

_By hands_

_By deeds_

_The flash of teeth_

_Hungry lips_

_Power trips_

_Sucking the_

_Remnants of_

_Child-husk_

_Can I emerge_

_A core of something_

_And contradict_

_And breathe_

_And live_

_And lift?_

_Casualty clings_

_To me_

_A reckoning_

_A reckless thing_

_Obliterated opulence_

_Swallowed whole_

_Caught aching_

_A lifetime’s worth_

_A soundless alarm_

_It used to be_

_That tomorrow_

_Only caused_

_More pain._

_Today,_

_It’s true_

_Again._

_The beast_

_Is encroaching,_

_And I remember._

It’s silent there.  And then, just like that, it isn’t.  Francesca’s whispering.  Asking questions.  Dominique wonders who exactly she’s talking to - whether it’s Dudley, or them, or herself?

“Do people treat you different?  

“Do they want you to do things they know you can’t do, or think you can’t do things you can?”

“Does that kind of stuff ever stop?  Does it happen to everybody?  Or just me?”

Dominique flies a paper airplane under the table.  She can hear Francesca pick it up.  Hear the silence as she reads:

_Dear Francesca,_

_People do treat me different._

_They push me too far while not believing in me at all._

_As far as I know, it does not stop.  As far as I know, the stuff we experience is specific to us.  But as you get older, you will get better at handling it.  We’ll help you.  I will help you.  I promise._

_You are not alone.  You are one of us._

_You are an avoider,  That means you have the right to take shelter here with us from other people’s rudeness.  From their comments.  From their stares.  From the way they assume things about you that are not true.  You deserve to be safe.  You deserve to be seen.  And you are._

_Here, you are._

_Love, Dominique_

The leaves look perfect on the trees. The wind blows them and somehow, Dominique feels comforted by it.  Not chilled and alone as she usually might.  And she wonders: _Is it because of this?  Is it because I’m here, with these people, at this time?  And we might not get everything right all the time, but we try.  We respect each other.  We learn, each day, to hold each other in high esteem, and so, learn to hold ourselves in equally high regard?_

She has never worn a title more proudly than being an Avoider with Jesus.  With Mariana.  And with Francesca.  This feels like it was meant to be.  She doesn’t believe in God, but thinks maybe her Gran had a hand in this.  

Glancing down at herself, Dominique realizes: _I don’t need a costume right now._

Jesus and Dudley stand up, and the sun’s sinking lower in the sky.  It’s almost time for them to go.  And Dominique’s not ready. She’s not sure she’ll ever be ready.  Because this level of understanding doesn’t travel.  It’s like Francesca said: “Avoidance doesn’t go with us.”

Speaking of Francesca, she’s crawled out from under the table, and whispers to Dominique:

“I’ll always be here for you.  I want you to know that, so you’ll feel not-alone, too.”

“Thank you, babe.  Can I give you a hug?” Dominique asks, swallowing the massive lump of emotion that has risen in her throat.

Francesca nods and opens her arms.

“You still wanna talk to me on the way to your party, even though I messed some stuff up?” she whispers.

“We all mess some stuff up from time to time.  I definitely wanna talk to you, still, if you still wanna ride with me?”

Another nod.

“Okay.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dominique promises.  “If anybody needs me in the meantime, text,” Dominique insists.

“Avoiders unite!” Francesca insists like it’s a cheer, her fist in the air.

It’s the perfect picture, but Dominique doesn’t take one.  She just commits the sight to memory.  The fading sun trickling through the leaves onto Francesca’s skin.  Her head up.  Her arm raised.  How she looks proud and strong in this moment.  Mariana and Jesus are laughing, too, coming alongside her.

“Come on, Dominique,” Mariana calls.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Dominique smiles.  “I am definitely coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dominique's poem was written by my sister.


	38. Chapter 38

**_Scene XI: One Day More_ **

The morning of her birthday, Dominique wakes up feeling a strange mix of dread and excitement.  Dread because her birthday has become synonymous with getting kidnapped a week later all those years ago, but excitement because Jesus, Mariana and Francesca are coming over to celebrate at her parents’ house tonight.

Part of Dominique wants to hold her breath.  To work through every possible eventuality because her track record for thing going right and working out?  Is stunningly less than the number of times in Dominique’s life that things have gone terribly, tragically wrong.

Mom and Dad get that it’s a sensitive subject for her.  And even though Dad, in particular, loves birthdays, and cake, and gifts and celebrating people?  He does his best to dial back his enthusiasm and keep it lowkey for her.

She opens her door and finds two balloons tied to the handle.  One yellow.  One lavender.  At her feet, there is a huge Tupperware container full of a variety of cookies.  A wrapped package is on top.

Curious, but about to be late, Dominique has to stow the stuff inside the apartment.  (She leaves the balloons tied to the door handle, for fear that Roberta might pop them and choke on the pieces while she’s gone.)

The day drags on at work, interminably long.  No one knows here that it’s her birthday - or so she thinks - until Nurse Bev appears from the burn ward carrying an adorably creepy village figurine.  Tiny frogs have taken over a witch’s haunt.  It looks like a cauldron and a pointy hat are all taken over by frogs.  There’s a booth on the side, full of frogs, that reads EX-BOYFRIENDS.

“I saw this when I was out and I knew I had to get it for you,” Bev gushes.  “The frogs just made me think of you, first thing.  And it’s Halloween-y and your birthday’s in October.  I don’t know.  It just screamed  _Dominique_ to me.”

“Thank you,” Dominique beams.

“Keep it behind the desk,” Bev advises, dropping a kiss on Dominique’s head.  (Nurse Bev is one of a handful of people Dominique allows this close.  But seeing her, and being there, the way Bev had?  In Dominique’s mind that made Bev family.)  “How old today?” she asks, excited.

“Twenty-two,” Dominique mumbles.

For the rest of her shift, Dominique swears she can hear Bev exclaiming “ _Twenty-two!_ My _God!  Do you know how old that makes_ me?” all the way upstairs.  She tries to be annoyed but she just can’t be.  Bev is too much in the best way.

Her other birthday present that day is that Kim and Lisa aren’t working that day at all.  So it’s quieter than usual.  Her shift ends, and she’s tired.  Looking to nap.  She almost forgets her creepy frog village on the desk.

But seeing it reminds her.  It’s her birthday and she can’t be done yet, because she’s got plans.  She needs to go home and change.  No way she’s celebrating in a scrub top.  She closes the apartment door behind her with a foot.  Says hi to Roberta and checks her texts:

_Dad:_

_Spaghetti tonight?_

Dominique smiles and texts back:

_Please.  You know me._

The next text is from Francesca.  A line of crabby emojis precedes it:

_Do I have to dress up?  Mama says yes._

Dominique wrinkles her nose:

_You do you_ , she texts back.   _Dressing up is a choice.  Not an obligation._

_Francesca:_

_Ha!  I knew it!  I’m going to show Mama this!_

Below Francesca’s text is one from Mariana:

_Happy bday!  Did you get our special delivery?_

_Dominique:_

_I did.  Something tells me we’re gonna have lots of cookies for dessert tonight with the cake…_

Even though Dominique doesn’t have a ton of time, she can’t resist checking out the cookies.  She takes the wrapped gift off the top and finds a note stuck to the lid:

_Chocolate Chip Cookies from Francesca (my favorite I hope yours too!)_

_S’mores cookies from Mariana (bc those granola bars….yum…love you Triplet.)_

_Lemon sugar cookies from Jesus (bc you said something about liking lemon stuff…and I always think about the brightest day when I think of you.)_

_PS The gift is from all 3 of us.  We all pitched in somehow.  You can open it now or bring it with you tonight.  Dudley and I are excited to come.  So are Mari and Frankie.  See you.  Jesus._

Dominique hurries to put the wrapped gift back on top of the Tupperware and go get dressed.  Like she told Francesca, dressing up was not mandatory, and part of celebrating was being comfortable.

So the name of the game is sweatpants.  And a black tee shirt that reads: HOSPITAL RECEPTIONIST: BECAUSE FREAKIN’ AWESOME IS NOT AN OFFICIAL JOB TITLE.  For the first time in forever, Dominique makes a point to do her makeup and make sure her wig is on straight after a 6-hour shift.  It’s an involved process, but worth it. She knows she doesn’t have time, but she makes the time.  It’s not like they can start the party without her.

By the time she’s done, Dominique’s phone’s blowing up with texts from Francesca asking if Dominique’s still giving her a ride, or if she forgot it was her birthday.

Dominique wrangles Roberta into her kennel and texts Francesca that she’s on the way now.

–

The last thing she expects is to see Francesca waiting on the front steps for her, but that’s where she is.

“Mama, Dominique’s here!” Francesca calls, making her way to the car.

Lena Adams Foster is outside in a minute flat, walking briskly to Dominique’s car.  It’s freaking hard not to judge the hell out of her knowing how she and Stef treat their kids, but she puts on her friendliest receptionist smile.  She needs Lena to trust her in order for Francesca to be allowed to go along.

Dominique gets out, to be fully polite.

“Hi, I’m Lena,” Lena introduces.

“Hi, Lena.  I’m Dominique,” Dominique returns and offers her hand to shake.  

Lena pauses a split second too long before grasping Dominique’s own tentatively.  Stares in a way that makes Dominique seriously regret the choice to wear a tee shirt.  She was feeling so damn good about herself, too.

“I like your shirt,” Francesca compliments getting to the car and standing with them.

Just like that, Dominique feels stronger.  “Thanks.  That’s cute,” she gestures to Francesca’s teal top and grey leggings.

“Is Roberta in there?” Francesca asks, tapping on Dominique’s back window.  “Hi,” she calls inside.

“Frankie, what do you say?” Lena prompts.

“Thanks,” Francesca offers, still focused on Roberta.

“Now, her bedtime is 8:30…”

“ _Mama_ …” Francesca whines, mortified.

“What?  Honey, I’m just saying.  I realize you’re hanging out with Jesus and Mariana and their friend tonight, but they need to remember that you’re not their age…”

“Dominique is my friend, and you said you wouldn’t embarrass me.  Plus, Jesus and Mariana and Dominique all know how to take good care of me.”

Jesus pulls into the drive then.  He sends a text (presumably to Mariana inside) to let her know he’s there.  

He smiles and gets out of the car.  “Hey.  Happy birthday,” he greets.

“Thank you,” Dominique grins.

“She’s got our cookies in the back seat with Roberta,” Francesca passes along to Jesus.

“I’m just gonna run in and see if Mariana needs a hand,” Dominique insists.  She doesn’t give Lena time to respond.  

Dominique finds Mariana in the bathroom upstairs trying to put a ponytail in.

“Hey.  Need help?” Dominique asks.

“Oh God, I’m so late.  I’m sorry.”

“No problem.  Your mom’s out front embarrassing Francesca but Jesus is with her.”  Dominique stands behind Mariana, studying.  “Do you have a clip?  Instead of an elastic?”

Mariana gestures to the drawers, and Dominique looks around.  Finds a banana clip.  

“You mind if I try to get your hair back with this?” Dominique asks.  Knows what a big deal what she’s asking is.  Knows how it feels to be touched - especially her hair - without asking.

“No, go for it…” Mariana insists.

Gently, Dominique gathers Mariana’s hair in one hand, and clasps the open clip around it with the other.  She takes a second to make sure Mariana’s hair looks good and then they leave the bathroom together.

They pause while Mariana gets shoes on.  She’s trying to hurry for Dominique’s benefit.  Dominique can see that.  “It’s okay.  There’s time,” she reassures.

Mariana blows out a breath.  Eventually her shoes are on and they walk outside together.  Dominique side-eyes their front steps hard.  Several of them, and no railing.  She offers Mariana a hand.  Wonders how Francesca gets down them without help.  It seems dangerous.  Jesus must’ve fixed the indoor stairs once upon a time, not the outdoor ones.

“I want her back by 8:00,” Lena insists.

“Mama,” Francesca protests.  “It’s Dominique’s birthday.  She doesn’t want to drop me off at 8:00.  Besides what if I wanna sleep over at Jesus’s?”

“I still want you home by 8:00 whether it’s Jesus’s house or here.”

“Mama.  She’ll be fine,” Jesus reassures.  Dominique wonders if she’s the only one who notices that he doesn’t explicitly promise to have her home by a certain time.  “She’s got extra clothes and a toothbrush at my place.”

“Okay.  Drive safe,” Lena insists, hugging Francesca tightly.


	39. Chapter 39

**_Scene XII: I’ll Cover You_ **

Francesca and Dominique drive in silence for almost a minute before Francesca breaks it.  She’s in the back with Roberta and the cookies.  “Sorry my mom’s so embarrassing…” Francesca mutters.

“ _I’m_  sorry she embarrassed you,” Dominique returns, sincere.

“She says that’s a mom’s job.  To embarrass us.  But I don’t think that’s right,” Francesca says, looking out the window.  There’s silence again until she meets Dominique’s eyes in the rearview mirror.  “I thought maybe you changed your mind about letting me ride with you.”

“Never,” Dominique insists.  

“What’s this thing?” Francesca wonders, picking up the froggy witch village from Bev gingerly.

“Oh.  That’s a birthday gift.  From a friend.”

“Did you like our gifts?”

“I haven’t tried the cookies yet, but I’m excited to.  And I haven’t opened the package yet.  I’m waiting, so my parents can be there, too.”

“I hope you’ll like ours the most,” Francesca says eagerly.

“I’m sure I’ll love them,” Dominique reassures.  There’s more quiet, ‘til Francesca speaks up again.

“Was Mama right?   _Are_  you just Jesus and Mariana’s friend?  Or are you mine, too?”  Francesca wonders.

“I think it’s a little bit different because we are different ages.  And there are sometimes things friends tell each other that it’s okay for a grown up to tell another grown up, but might be too much stress for a grown up to put on a kid.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You are my friend, too.  Definitely.  But there might be things that I wait to tell you until you’re a grown up like us.”

“That’s eight years away…” Francesca complains.

“I know.  But in the meantime, you get to tell me whatever you want.  And I’ll be here for you.”

“And you won’t tell my moms?” Francesca checks.  “Like the stuff we talked about at Avoidance?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.  In private.  I think it’s important that you’re able to choose people you trust to tell stuff like that to.  Safe people.  Sometimes, that’s parents, but sometimes it’s not.  Sometimes it’s another adult.  Like a teacher.”

“My teacher would tell my moms…” Francesca worries.

“Well, I was thinking…maybe once you spend some time with my mom, you might trust her with your stuff.”

“I don’t know…” Francesca hedges.

“It’s just an idea.  You don’t have to decide right now.  But one thing I know for sure is that I can trust my mom.  She is a safe person to me.  And I would never push you to share your stuff with anyone you weren’t ready to.  I just thought that maybe, if Jesus, Mariana or I needed another adult to know how to help you with your stuff, you might consider trusting her.  I won’t say anything to her about your stuff unless and until you want me to.”

“If I said yes…would you go with me?  Talk to her together?” Francesca ventures, quiet.

“Absolutely.  You wouldn’t be alone, babe.  I’d be right there with you.”

“Will you still like me if I don’t wanna tell your mom?” Francesca checks.

“I will still like you,” Dominique reassures.  “Who you tell or don’t tell is your choice.  And I respect you as a person.  That includes your choices.”

“Thanks.  Does Roberta like cookies?” Francesca asks, studying the cat in her carrier.

“You know, I think if I’d have left the cover off on y’all’s cookies today?  She’d have eaten them all.”

Francesca laughs.

Dominique turns up the volume on the  _Wicked_  soundtrack and starts teaching Francesca the lyrics to  _Popular_ after talking her through the premise.  “I’ll have to show you a video sometime.  The song is much better when you see it.  Or maybe we’ll have to go to a show together…”

“Like a play?” Francesca asks.

“Yeah.  Have you ever been to a musical?”

“ _Peter Pan_ ,” Francesca wrinkles her nose.  “Is that a musical?”

“I think it’s just a play.  I’m talking about one with a bunch of songs in it.”

“Oh.”

They pull into the drive and Jesus and Mariana park behind Dominique.  Everybody gets out.  Dominique carries Roberta in her carrier.  Francesca wants to carry the cookies and mystery present.  Jesus has Dudley on his leash and a free hand to help Mariana up the steps.  Dominique’s standing with Francesca at the base of the steps as she hesitates.  With her arms full, she doesn’t have a free hand to accept help, and Dominique doesn’t have one to offer.

“Backup!” Francesca yells.  Dominique flinches.  “Buddy, could we get some backup out here, please?”

“Sorry,” she apologizes sweetly, at regular volume again now.  “Jesus always tells me if I need help, don’t be polite.  Make sure people hear.”

“That’s good advice,” Dominique nods.

Next thing she knows, not only Jesus, but Dominique’s dad come outside.  “Hey.  I’m Michael.  You must be Francesca” he introduces.  

“Yeah…” Francesca hedges, shy now.

“Can I take that from you?  Carry it in?” Dad gestures to the cookies and the present.

Silently, Francesca offers them.  Dominique stands by her side until Jesus and Dudley are back.  She doesn’t want Francesca to think Dominique forgot about how she asked not to be left behind.  To be waited with.  Jesus offers Francesca a hand.

“You good?” he asks Dominique.

“Yeah.  Just making sure Francesca got inside,” Dominique nods.  She follows them both indoors and up the stairs.  She spots her mom in the kitchen and points her out to Francesca.

“Francesca, this is my mom, Jaimie.  Mom, this is Francesca.”

“Nice to meet you, Francesca.  I’m so glad you could come over,” Mom greets warmly.

“Thank you for having me,” Francesca says sweetly.

Dominique’s Facebook messaged Family Chat extensively in preparation for this.  Hopes they’ll remember to try to keep crosstalk to a minimum for Mariana.  Not ask questions if Jesus steps out while Dominique opens something wrapped.  Or any of the other dozen little things.  It’s her birthday, but she wants Jesus, Mariana and Francesca to feel comfortable here.  Safe.  Like her house is an extension of Avoidance.

“Spaghetti smells amazing,” Dominique compliments, reaching out a hand tentatively to Dad.

He reaches back but doesn’t touch her.  She stands close, hoping he can feel her love bridging the distance.

Mom, meanwhile, is offering hugs to Francesca, Mariana and Jesus.  Jesus accepts.  Mariana and Francesca decline.  Mom doesn’t make a big deal.  She stops at Dominique next.  “Now that shirt is…” she smiles widely.  “Michael, did you read her shirt?”

“Freakin’ Awesome, that’s my girl!” he says proudly from the kitchen.

“So, when is Dominique gonna do presents?” Francesca asks from her chair beside Mariana.

“After dinner, before cake,” Mom says.  “Does that work for everybody?” she asks.

All three, and Dominique nod.

“So, do I really have to be home at  _8:00_?” Francesca asks, like it’s the worst thing she can think of.  “That’s hardly any time to have fun.”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’ll keep Mama posted,” Jesus reassures.  “You won’t be in trouble.  Should I just text her you’re spending the night at my place?”

Francesca nods.

When Dad brings out the spaghetti, Francesca’s eyes get wide as saucers.  “Meatballs?” she asks, incredulous.  “I thought those were just in the song.”

“You know meatballs are real, don’t you?” Mariana checks.

“No,” Francesca denies.  She’s entranced.

“I guess why would she?” Jesus asks.  “Mama’s pretty big on healthy cooking and vegetarian stuff.”

“This is ground turkey again,” Dad adds for Mariana’s benefit mostly.

“Whatever you made, I’m sure it’s great,” Mariana smiles.  “I’m still not over that you made Jude’s lasagna…”

“He made Jude’s lasagna???” Francesca asks, shocked.  “How does he know Jude?” Francesca’s whispering loudly to Mariana.

“He doesn’t, but I asked him for the recipe and he gave it to me,” Dominique shares.

“No fair, I didn’t get to come here and have Jude’s lasagna…” Francesca pouts.

“Well, I will definitely make it again,” Dad says.  “And next time I do, you’re welcome to come over.”

“Really?” Francesca checks.  

“Really.”

“All right,” Mom says, bringing the spaghetti to the table.  “Who’s ready to eat?”


	40. Chapter 40

**_Scene XIII: It Might As Well Be Spring_ **

Mom and Dad pray before they eat, and Dominique watches as Francesca glances around, unsure of what to do.  Jesus and Mariana have their own heads bowed, out of respect.

Dominique nods at Francesca, reassuring.  Soon enough, the prayer’s over, and they can move ahead with the meal.

“That was kinda awkward,” Francesca admits quietly.

“Was it?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, because we don’t pray like that in our house.  Right, Mari?”

“That’s true.  But we’re guests at Dominique’s parents’ house, and they have the right to pray if they want to here.”

“I know.  I’m just saying,” Francesca insists.  “Not to be rude.”

“It’s not something you’re used to.  We understand,” Mom reassures.  “We’re not offended.”

Dad’s spaghetti is just as good as Dominique remembers - not that it’s been terribly long since she’s had it - but sometimes even a week feels too long.  Francesca is mesmerized by the presence of all the “real meatballs” and pours on the parmesan cheese.

“Hey.  Manners,” Jesus reprimands lightly.  

“What?” Francesca whispers back.

“You gotta save some for everybody else,” he continues.

“Make yourself at home, Francesca,” Mom insists.

Francesca silently gestures to Dominique’s mom in a “See?” fashion, all annoyance at her big brother.

“At home we have to share stuff, too,” Jesus insists.  

“Fine,” Francesca sighs, but digs in happily.  

“So, Francesca, what do you do for fun?” Dad asks.

“Um…play outside.  Read…”

“Yeah?  Read anything good lately?”

“Dominique started me reading Harry Potter,” Francesca confesses with a smile.

“She did?  What do you think of that?” Dad asks.

“Good,” Francesca smiles, shy again.

“What do you do for fun?” Mariana asks Dad.

“I do enjoy cooking.  Time with my lovely wife and freakin’ awesome daughter.”

Dominique ducks her head, but smiles.

“Jaimie?” Michael asks.  “What do you do for fun?”

“Well…I’m kinda getting into this costume thing that Dominique does.”

“Oh, I saw your evil queen costume with the horns!” Francesca exclaims.  

“You did?  What did you think?” Mom asks her.

“My moms never dress up with me, especially when it’s not Halloween…” Francesca ventures.

“No?” Mom asks.  “You all should try it sometime - you and your moms.  Makes you feel strong.”

Francesca shrugs.  “They wouldn’t.”

“Well, you can always dress up with us if you want,” Dominique offers.

“No, because if I’m accommodationing Jesus then I can’t,” Francesca maintains.  Mom and Dad exchange an amused look.

“Buddy, it’s okay with me if you wanna dress up with Dominique and her Mom.  Costumes aren’t so bad for me anymore.”

“Even doctor costumes?” Francesca asks, incredulous.

“Well…I might steer clear of you guys if you dress like doctors, but you’d be able to dress up as that if it’s what you wanted to do…” Jesus returns.

“Don’t worry.  I won’t,” Francesca says, stabbing a meatball gleefully.  “Mr. Williams, you make the best meatballs,” she insists.

“You can call me Michael,” Dad says.

“And you…Mrs. Williams?” Francesca asks, checking thoroughly on how best to refer to her parents.

“You can call me Jaimie,” Mom reassures with a smile.

“Okay.  It’s not rude?”  Francesca wonders.

“Not if we ask,” Mom clarifies.

“Okay.”

“So what have you all been up to since last time we had the pleasure to have you over?” Dad asks.

“Talking,” Francesca answers.

“Yep, at Avoidance,” Dominique nods.

“Now what is Avoidance?” Dad wonders.

“It just means getting together to avoid mean people,” Francesca clarifies.

“Oh, I see.”

“Jesus and Mariana?  Dom?  What about you three?”

“Working,” Dominique answers.

“Getting ready for Dominique’s birthday,” Jesus insists with a small smile.

“Yeah, we brought your stash in.  Guys we got cookies for dessert, before or after cake.” Dominique shares.

“Mariana, what about you, babe?  You’ve been quiet.” Mom checks.

“Just listening,” she says.

Even though they are all taking turns, Dominique wonders if the level of noise isn’t a factor anyway, for Mariana.

“Yeah?  You get to help out with Dominique’s birthday prep?” Mom asks.

Mariana nods.

“She made me S’mores cookies…” Dominique confesses, beaming.  “Because she loves me.  And she knows the way to my heart is through a S’mores cookie…”

“Have you ever  _had_  a s’mores cookie?” Dad wonders.

“No, but I’m sure it’s delicious…” Dominique insists.

“It is,” Jesus, Mariana and Francesca chorus.

They’re cleaning up, in preparation for presents, when Dominique feels a tug on her sleeve.  She flinches, but recovers fast when she sees it’s Francesca.

“Sorry,” she whispers.  “Can I talk to you?”  

“Sure,” Dominique nods and leads the way outside on their back patio.  “What’s up?”

“If I  _did_  tell your mom…would she be mad?” Francesca checks.

“I think she would understand,” Dominique offers.

“But it makes me weird,” Francesca insists.  “Moms think Jesus made me weird.  Like he influenced me wrong and taught me bad coping.”

“What do you think?” Dominique asks gently.

“That I would’ve done it anyway, even if Jesus wasn’t my brother…” Francesca shares.  “It’s not about him.  He’s the reason I’m trying to cope better, not the reason I do it.”

“Why do you do it? Do you know?” Dominique asks.

“It’s from getting treated bad, I think,” Francesca offers.

“You blame yourself,” Dominique nods.

“Yeah, well who else do I blame when I’m the reason they get stressed?”

“They’re adults.  They don’t need to be making you feel guilty.”

“They do, though…” Francesca sighs.

“Yeah.  I know they do.  Listen to me, though,” Dominique says softly.  “You are not the reason my life is stressed.  Or Jesus’s or Mariana’s or my parents.  You make our lives better, babe, not worse.”

“Can I sit with you?” Francesca asks, her voice full.  “Like we did to read Harry Potter?”

“Yeah, come on,” Dominique pats her lap.

Francesca climbs up - her bony knees digging into Dominique’s thighs.  She turns, sitting with her back to Dominique’s chest.  “I only did it a couple times, but Jesus says any times is too many times.  I just…don’t want to think about the bad stuff sometimes…”

“What bad stuff?”

“When people talk to me like a baby.  When they laugh at me.  Call me names.  When kids do it and no grown ups do anything, even if they’re right there.  And then I tell Mama, and she just says all the stuff I shouldn’t have done.  It makes me not want to think about it anymore.”

“Right.  That makes sense.  How about…the next time you feel like you want a distraction..you call me.  If I don’t answer, you sing me a song or tell me a funny story, or talk to me about anything you want?”

“Like, you’re at work?”

“Yeah,” Dominique nods.

“And what if you’re not at work?” Francesca wonders.

“Then I’ll answer.  And we can talk about whatever you need to talk about.”

“And you’ll blame me?” Francesca asks, blunt, turning to face her.

“I won’t blame you, no.”

“What if I do it again on accident?” Francesca insists.  “Then you might blame me.”

“Then, I’ll understand.  We’ll be friends, no matter what, babe.  That won’t make me stop liking you.”

“I burned my hand right there.  You can’t see it.  But that’s the first time…”

Dominique holds Francesca’s hand in the fading light. Presses it to her face.  “I’m sorry so much bad stuff happened to you, babe.  You don’t deserve that.  You deserve people to love you and treat you well all the time.”

“But sometimes not…” Francesca counters.  “Because sometimes I’m mean, too, and you might need Avoidance from me.”

“Never.  I will never need Avoidance from you.  Will you ever need it from me?” Dominique asks.

“Will you get tired of me?  Be mean?” Francesca asks.  It hurts Dominique’s heart that the question is so honest.  That Francesca so expects someone to treat her badly.

“No.  I will never get tired of you.  I’ll never be mean to you.  Not on purpose.  If I seem angry, that just means something else is probably going on.  And it’s hard for me to keep my feelings in.”

“You shouldn’t keep them in anyways,” Francesca insists.  “You should talk about them.  To me.  ‘Cause I’m practicing being a safe person.”

“That is great advice,” Dominique ventures.

“It’s getting dark,” Francesca observes.  “But I’m not scared.  Are you?”

“No.  No, I’m not scared either,” Dominique says gently, resting her chin on Francesca’s head.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Scene XIV: My Favorite Things** _

It’s damn near perfect out here, even with 60-some pounds of Francesca on her lap.  They’re quiet, and sometimes that’s just so, so necessary.  Especially after sharing something big and close to your heart.  It says something that even Francesca, usually so talkative, is saying nothing right now.  Because she’s choosing it.  No one is actively silencing her.  Telling her she’s too much or too loud.  

Because here she is just enough.  Just the right amount of  _her_.

“Dominique?  Francesca?  You two wanna come in and do presents?” Mom asks after they have been sitting in silence for a while.

Francesca jumps and that startles Dominique in turn.

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to scare the two of you,” Mom apologizes.  

“I scare easily,” Francesca shares.  She doesn’t seem like she’s ready to move at all.

“I do, too,” Dominique nods.  “It’s okay.  You wanna go in?  Have presents and some lemon cake?  We could try some of your cookies…” Dominique suggests, hoping to get a laugh out of Francesca.

Instead, she just squeezes Dominique’s hand.

“Want me to ask her to stay for a minute?” Dominique checks.

Francesca nods.

“Hey, Mom?  Can you hang out?” Dominique asks.

“I can always hang out.  What’s going on out here?” Mom wonders, keeping her tone light and friendly.

“If I wanna ask a question…” Francesca whispers to Dominique.

“Yeah, go ahead.  My mom likes questions.”

Mom is silent, guessing whatever Francesca has to say is hard for her.

“What if I wanted to tell you something…but maybe not right now?” Francesca ventures.

“That would be your choice, and it’s okay to make choices you feel you need to make for yourself,” Mom says.

“Will I get to see you more after this?” Francesca wonders.

“I hope so,” Mom says, meaning it genuinely.  

“So, I can have more time to decide, and that’s okay?” Francesca presses.

“Of course.  You let Dominique know when you’re ready, and you both can come talk to me then, okay?”

Francesca nods.  “Can we still open presents now?”

–

Back inside, the table’s been cleared and Dominique feels a little bad that she wasn’t around to help.  She checks out Jesus’s face for any sign of panic-cleaning, and doesn’t see any.  Mariana seems at ease, probably with less people around for awhile.  Dominique scoots in between Jesus and Mariana.  Francesca works her way between her and Jesus and stands.

Mom and Dad bring out a few presents in gift bags, no tissue paper and set them in front of Dominique.  She’s happy about the new journal and the note in her birthday card about how Mom will take her shopping for costume stuff sometime they’re both free.  (Dominique breathes a sigh of relief not to see any cash in the card.  She’s glad her parents get it’s a trigger.)

“Now, is it our turn?” Francesca asks.

“Sure,” Dominique smiles.  She pulls the Tupperware full of cookies closer and uncovers it.  “Can I try these first, though?”

“Oh my God,  _please_.  Jesus has been bugging me about it all day long,” Mariana laughs.

“What?  I was just curious what you thought?” Jesus says, smiling.

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Mariana maintains.  “Well…only if it’s  _your_ mind,” she amends.

“They’re twins,” Francesca says importantly, looking to Dad.  “I have twins in my class, and they look way more alike than Jesus and Mariana.”

Dominique takes out three cookies for herself - one of each - and passes the giant plastic bowl.  Everybody follows suit.

All of the cookies are amazing.  But Dominique prefers the lemon ones and the S’mores ones to plain chocolate chip.  She doesn’t tell Francesca this, though.  Mom and Dad are equally enthusiastic over the cookies, and Dad even asks if he can have Francesca’s recipe for chocolate chip cookies.

“Okay, but not the secret ingredient…” she sing-songs the last word.  

“Wait.  Jesus, Mariana, you two didn’t say anything about a secret ingredient.”

“That’s because it’s a secret,” Mariana insists smiling.

“Well, what is it?” Dad presses comically.  “Seriously, I know a lady whose secret ingredient is a ton of vanilla.”

“Nope,” Francesca grins, crossing her arms.  “I’m not telling.  And you guys don’t either.  It’s been in the family for generations…”

“Oh my God, it has not,” Jesus laughs.  

“Seriously, are you gonna open our present, or not?” Mariana presses.

“Okay, okay.  Jesus, are you okay first?” Dominique checks in.  “If I open this?”

“Can we throw the wrapping paper away right after?”

“Of course,” Mom nods.  “Use one of these gift bags to tuck the paper in, and one of us will take care of it for you.”

“Okay…I don’t know if I’m ready for this….” Dominique ventures after she’s gotten the nod from Jesus.  “Am I gonna cry?”

“Are you a crier?” Jesus asks.

“Well, I might be when I open your package,” Dominique laughs.  “Okay, here goes…”

She tears the paper carefully and as quick as possible, Dominique stows it in one of the gift bags and Dad takes it out to the kitchen to throw away.  Dominique doesn’t look down at the present until he comes back.  

It’s a frame.  Wooden.  Like a picture frame, with a stand in back.  Slowly, Dominique turns it over.  Sees the drawing Jesus made of her, titled now.  It’s called  _Anything_.  She studies the pencil lines that make up herself, in profile.  Affixed to the drawing is another, smaller piece of paper, with what she’s come to recognize as Francesca’s handwriting on it.  It reads:

_My teacher asked today, “If you could be anything, what would you be?”  And I said “Me,” before she even finished her sentence.  Everybody laughed.  Because she meant, like, in a fantasy world.  Or if you could do your dream job.  But CP isn’t good with fantasies or dream jobs.  CP is real.  It’s actually here with me.  It’s part of what makes me.  So I can’t really say I want to be a dancer anymore, and I don’t wanna be a doctor.  I wanna be me.  That’s all.  I hope that’s enough.  I hope when I grow up and I’m still me, people don’t still laugh.  I hope they see that I am me, and CP comes with that.  Maybe that makes me boring but oh well.  When you can be anything, be you._

“Mariana bought the frame, ‘cause Jesus and I don’t have money,” Francesca shares as Dominique blinks back tears.

“You guys…  This is beautiful.  Thank you.”  With shaking hands, Dominique offers it first to her Mom.

“You’re welcome,” they say, one after another.

“Francesca, you’re quite a writer,” Mom praises, wiping her own eyes.

“It wasn’t for a school assignment.  It was just what I felt inside,” she turns to Dominique.  “What you guys all helped me to feel.”

“Well, I’m glad to help,” Dominique clears her throat, putting an arm around Francesca.

“Jesus, babe, are you all right if I ask you kids to scoot together for a picture?” Mom asks.

“Where will it go?” he asks.

“I was thinking I’d send it to Michael and all of you, if that’s okay.”

“Not online?” he checks.

“Not if you don’t want.  No,” Mom reassures.

“Yeah, a picture sounds good then.”

“Okay, get together,” Mom insists.

Dominique feels it as Jesus, Mariana and Francesca all lean in around her.  Says cheese on Mom’s say-so.  She feels like there’s so much right that she dare not breathe.  She doesn’t want it disappearing, like every good thing in her life has been known to do.  She smiles.  Holds her breath.

Breathes.

Because maybe, just maybe, this time it will be different.

Mom snaps the picture, and Dominique makes a split second decision.  “Mom and Dad, you guys get in the next one with us.”

“Really?” Dad asks, incredulous.  “What’d we ever do right?”

“Do you want a list?” Dominique asks seriously, all the sarcasm gone from her voice.  But in a second, she’s back to snark because it’s where she’s most comfortable.  “Mom, hand Dad your phone, he has the longest arms.”

Francesca cracks up, and that gets everybody else going.

Nobody even has to ask them to smile.


	42. Chapter 42

**_Scene XV: Some Enchanted Evening_ **

Mom’s just sent the pictures around to everyone’s phones, when Dominique’s own chimes with a text from Mariana:

_Break?_

“Yeah, of course.  Let me show you,” Dominique says, leading the way to her room.

She flips the light on.  The room looks bare without any of her stuff in it.  But it’s still obviously hers:  the bed.  The curtains.  Roberta follows them inside and Francesca’s on her heels.

“Hey.  What are we doing?” she wonders.  “Whoa.  Is this your room?  No fair, why can’t I see it?”

“Because Mariana needs some quiet for a while.  Remember, accommodations?” Dominique prompts.

“Oh yeah,” she says, realization dawning and understanding taking over previously hurt feelings.  “I’ll close the door.  And I’ll make sure they save you some cake,” Francesca offers magnanimously.

Mariana nods.

After Francesca’s gone, Mariana meets Dominique’s eyes: “You don’t have to stay.”

“ _You_ did,” Dominique reminds.  “We don’t leave each other alone.  So I’ll just sit, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Mariana nods.

Dominique sits quietly with Mariana, offering her bed, made with fresh sheets and comforter, should Mariana want to rest.  She looks tired enough to seriously consider taking Dominique up on it.  So Dominique gets up and turns down the blankets.

“So tempting,” Mariana smiles, sighing.

“So get in.  I won’t let Roberta sit on your face.  Don’t worry.”

“Oh, thanks,” Mariana laughs.

“No problem.  I do what I can.” Dominique reassures.

She sits with Roberta in her lap. Sings to her softly. The song pours out of her:  _Almost There_  from  _The Princess and the Frog_ ,  and she stops herself belatedly.  

“Why’d you stop?” Mariana asks.

“Because, I’m remembering you came here ‘cause you want quiet, and I’m making you listen to me…”

“You’re not making me.  Your voice is nice,” Mariana insists.  

So Dominique tries not to be self conscious and keeps singing.  Roberta likes it, especially when she goes into  _Another Day_  from  _RENT._   “ _There’s only us_ ,” she sings gently.  “ _There’s only this_.   _Forget regret.  Or life is yours to miss_.”

“ _No other road, no other way.  No day but today_ …” Mariana sings back.

–

They re-emerge in time for cake.  Dominique’s shocked that no one’s cut into it yet.  That Jesus, Francesca, Mom and Dad are all just sitting around the table visiting quietly with each other.

“You didn’t have to wait…” Mariana objects.

“We wanted to,” Jesus tells her, getting up to pull out chairs for her.  For Dominique.  Dominique catches something flash in his eyes.  Watches his knuckles go white on the back of the chair.  He looks terribly blank.

Dudley licks Jesus’s arm - the one closest to him.  Leans hard into Jesus.

Dominique feels stuck beside Jesus, not knowing what to do.  Her chair’s still pushed in, and he seems frozen behind it.  

“Jesus?  Can I help?” Dominique wonders.

Francesca gets up and walks over to Jesus.  Works her hand underneath one of his, so that he’s holding onto her, not the chair.  “Buddy?  Jesus?  You don’t have to stand there.  You can sit down.”

“But the chair….” Jesus offers, hoarse.

“I got it,” Dominique insists softly.

Francesca takes Jesus’s hand and leads him back to his own chair.  “Can I sit with you?” she asks.

And it hits Dominique what Francesca’s doing.  Giving him a reason to sit.  It works.  With Dudley still licking him and Francesca asking to sit with him, Jesus eventually can sit down.  He’s there a few minutes before he seems clear again.  

“Sorry,” he offers.  “That uh, happens sometimes…”

“No need to apologize,” Mom reassures.  This whole time, her and Dad have kept busy, getting bowls, silverware, ice cream and bringing the cake to the table.  They know how to give space when it’s needed.  Get when their presence - or staring, especially Dad’s - might do more harm than good.

“Did you know that your dad is adopted?” Francesca asks Dominique, genuinely curious, from Jesus’s lap.

Dominique’s close enough that she can hear Jesus’s quiet words to his sister: “Buddy, remember what we said about private information?  For some people, being adopted is like that.”

“Oh…” Francesca offers, embarrassed.  “I feel bad.  I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t mind talking about it,” Dad offers.  “It’s not something I’m ashamed of.  It’s okay.”

“We don’t tell you this stuff so you feel bad, just so you’ll know if there’s a next time,” Mariana adds.

“Who’s ready for some cake?” Mom asks.  She takes her time asking who wants just cake, who wants just ice cream and who wants both.

“Wait.  You didn’t make a wish…like we said yesterday…”

“I said yesterday I don’t really make wishes,” Dominique reminds, with a smile.

“But  _if_  you could,” Francesca presses.  “Maybe just close your eyes and wish one before your mom cuts the cake…”

“I have everything I want,” Dominique says and means it.  But a small voice inside cautions:  _almost_.  It’s enough for Dominique to close her eyes.  To wish.  To mean it.  Then she asks for cake and ice cream, both.

Her wish is private.  Just for her.  A wish that maybe, someday, she’ll be able to think of Taylor and not ache.  Maybe the thought of her baby will one day simply exist as part of her.  Not as a secret.  Not as a raw wound.  Not as evidence of Dominique’s own failure.  But just as a memory.

Jesus is adding lemon cookies to his ice cream to see if they’ll go with the cake. 

Francesca adds a chocolate chip one to her ice cream and asks: “Did you wish something?”

“I did,” Dominique nods.

“What?”

“I can’t tell, or it won’t come true…” Dominique ventures.

“Well then don’t tell me.  But you should really try some cookie ice cream.  Here, Mariana, try this…” Francesca holds out her spoon and Mariana eats the bite of ice cream, closing her eyes and practically moaning at how good it is.

“You kids get along really well,” Mom says, impressed.

“Oh, we don’t always,” Mariana insists.

“Jesus and Brandon do  _not_  get along.  Or Jesus and Jude.  Or Jesus and Callie…” Francesca rattles off.  “Jesus and Moms…or me and Moms…or Mariana and Moms…”

“I was gonna say…it sounded for a minute there like I was the reason nobody got along,” Jesus teases lightly.

“No.  They are.  We get along because we love each other for real.  With respect added to it.  I don’t know about everybody else…I think they love us but without respect…which doesn’t really feel like love at all.”  She glances up from stirring her ice cream into soup.  “I get it now, Dominique.”

“You do,” Dominique nods.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you four love and respect each other both,” Mom praises.

Dominique’s a little shocked to hear herself added in with Francesca, Mariana and Jesus, but she tries not to show it.  

Before they know it, it’s time to go.  Way past 8 PM, but Jesus has texted Lena that Francesca’s spending the night with him and they’re on their way out.  Dominique wrangles Roberta, gives Mom a hug and waves to Dad, thanking him for dinner and the cake.

“My pleasure, babe.” he says.

“You need anything, you call me.  Text me.  Just get in touch,” Mom insists.

“Okay, I will,” Dominique promises.

Dad’s moved to hold the door open for them.  He offers first Mariana, and then Francesca, a hand down the front steps.

Jesus is already in the car with Dudley, having thanked her parents for having them over.  Mariana and Francesca are on their way to him when Dad surprises her, offering her a hand down the steps, too.

She looks at it.  At his face.  Reaches out.  Takes it.  Her heart pounding the whole time.  She doesn’t let just anyone hold her hand.  Knows they feel different.  She’s pretty positive Dad hasn’t held her hand at all, or tried, since before.

“I remember, babe,” he says softly.  “I remember all the time.  Losing you.  Finding you.”

“Hating me?” she asks in a tiny voice.

“ _Loving you_ ,” he insists, choking on the words.  “ _Always_.”

“I’m different…” she starts, hesitant.  By now she’s down the steps and they’re just standing in the small amount of porch light.

“I love different,” Dad says, like it’s really true.

Hesitantly, she reaches out.  Wraps her arms around him.  “Thank you,” she manages, her voice breaking.

“Thank you,” Dad says back.  “I know letting me close isn’t easy.  And I want you to know that  _I know that_.  And I appreciate you always trying so hard for me.  Even if you never hugged me again?  I’m still the guy who gets to call you his daughter.  I  _get_ to love you.  And that’s the biggest joy in my life.”

Dominique can’t speak.  Tears block her throat and burn her nose. But she squeezes his hand once, tight.  And then she lets go, walking to her car.

 


	43. Chapter 43

**_Scene XVI: You’ll Never Walk Alone_ **

When they get back to Gateway, Dominique expects Francesca will have faded fast.  That between all the excitement and the sugar she’d be down for the count, but she’s talking Jesus and Mariana’s ears off in between the two sets of doors.

“I don’t have to go to bed yet, do I?” she checks.  “Because I’m not tired.  Hey, can we have Avoidance?” she asks.

“It’s dark,” Mariana observes, casting meaningful glances at Jesus and Dominique

“Yeah, it is.  I don’t think it’s a good idea to go hang out outside when it’s dark,” Jesus says regretfully.

“That’s okay,” Francesca says, hurrying inside once Jesus’s key card admits them.  “We could just have it right here at these nice tables!”  Francesca’s in the lobby.  “And it’s almost like real Avoidance…because…look…snacks!” she grins, pointing the the vending machines for soda, chips and candy.

“Yeah, just what you need.  More sugar,” Mariana quips.

“It is actually what I need.  If we have Avoidance, we need food.  For Jesus and all of us.”

Dominique exchanges glances with Jesus and Mariana.  They look at her, then each other, and shrug.  “Why not?” they chorus.

“Okay.  Just let me drop Roberta off,” Dominique says.  She makes quick work of going to her apartment, letting Roberta out of her kennel and locking the door behind her.  She sends a quick text to Mom:

_Can’t wait to costume shop w/ you.  Thanks for having my friends over.  Love you._

Mom sends a goofy selfie of her and Dad smiling, with the text:  _Me, too!  Love your friends.  Love you._

–

She finds Jesus, Mariana and Francesca all sitting around the table in the lobby.  Dominique finds herself glad it’s far into the room, and away from the doors.  The table top is loaded with snacks and bottled water.

“Jesus says I can’t have Mountain Dew…” Francesca announces, the minute Dominique comes into view.

“What are you doing?” Jesus asks, tired, but amused.

“I’m asking.  You guys said.  Dominique’s our sister so she should get a vote. One vote for no,” she wrinkles her nose at Jesus.  “And one vote for yes.” Francesca smiles now, pointing to herself.  

“Now, I’m not used to having a brother and sisters, but I know the number one rule of being an only child with cool parents was never to pit the parents against each other…” Dominique observes.

“Fine, Mariana you vote, and please say yes…please, please, please!”  Francesca begs.

“Sorry, I don’t think so.  But have some snacks, okay?” Mariana tries.

“What’s Avoidance without good drinks?” Francesca pouts.

“You had good spaghetti, good cake and good ice cream,” Jesus points out.

“And cookies,” Mariana adds.

“Well, when you say it like  _that_ …” Francesca cracks a smile.  “Okay, who wants some Cheetos?”

Dudley, tall enough to be eye level with the table, sticks his head right beside Francesca.

“Not for you, Dudley, sorry,” Francesca apologizes, sticking her lip out.

“Thank you guys for coming tonight.  Did it go okay?  Would you, like, ever wanna come back or anything?”

“Yes,” Francesca insists around a mouthful of Cheetos, before there’s even enough time to pause.

Jesus checks with Mariana, glancing at her.  She nods.  So he speaks:  “I think it went really well.  I know I definitely would wanna come back.”

“Me, too,” Mariana chimes in.

They talk for hours about movies they want to see.  TV shows they like.  Francesca’s all about Disney Channel shows, and Jesus knows the schedule for The Cooking Channel like the back of his hand.  Dominique convinces Francesca to finish the first Harry Potter book with the promise that they can watch the movie together after.  Mariana asks if anybody is still watching Grey’s Anatomy.

They’re shocked when Francesca raises her hand guiltily.

“What?  It’s on Netflix…”

“Just because it’s on Netflix doesn’t mean you should watch it,” Jesus laughs in spite of himself.

“Moms don’t know, do they?” Mariana checks.

“No.” Francesca shakes her head, smiling a little.

“Good.  Do not tell them,” Mariana insists.  Then she drops her voice.  “So, what episode are you on?”

When Francesca starts nodding off at the table, Mariana offers to walk her up to Jesus’s and tuck her in.  “I’ll stay, too, if that’s okay,” Mariana adds.

“Of course it’s okay,” Jesus nods.

“Good night hugs,” Francesca offers sleepily and stands near Jesus.

Jesus hugs her warmly.  It’s long.  Not like any hug she’s ever seen before.  It’s like they could just keep standing there, holding onto each other, but eventually Francesca lets go.  “My leg’s tired, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize for Righty, he needs rest,” Jesus says seriously.

Francesca laughs a little, walks to Dominique with her arms open.  Dominique accepts.

“Jesus thinks Righty is a boy,” Francesca confesses.

“Is he right?” Dominique checks.

“Yes,” Francesca whispers.  “Good night, Dominique.”  

Before Dominique can respond, Francesca’s lips are pressed to her cheek.  Instinct.  The sensation is different here, on her scarred side.  It’s sensitive and dull all at once.  

“I love you,” Francesca whispers.  

“I love you, babe,” Dominique says and means it.  Would not have said it otherwise.

She stands and walks Francesca over to Mariana.  Gives Mari a hug too.  “Thank you for being there for me,” Dominique says, holding tight to her.

“Always.  Anytime,” Mariana replies, hugging her back.

Dominique watches until they board the elevator.  Until it dings shut.  Then, she turns to Jesus:

“So…” she ventures.

“So…” he echoes.

“I know we haven’t talked much one on one…but…I really liked my drawing…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  It almost feels so personal that I don’t know if I’d want to hang it anywhere, you know?”

“I did one of Francesca.  The first time I really drew a person, and she wanted it put up in her room.  I felt embarrassed at first but also proud.  Because she thought something of mine was good enough to show.”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna embarrass you…but I kinda like the idea of putting it up in my room.  Nobody’s usually in there but me.”

They’re quiet.  The clock’s ticking on the wall - the only noise.  Jesus eventually gets up and tosses all the wrappers into the trash can.  Walks back to the table.

Dominique can’t explain it, but she gets the feeling that he’s not ready to go yet.  So, she waits.  It’s a skill they both have in spades.

A minute ticks by.  Then another.  Dominique hears him take a breath.  “I wanted to say…” he ventures, and then stops.

She nods.  

“What if it’s stupid?”

“It’s not,” Dominique says, sure.  “Nothing my friends say to me is stupid.”

“What if it is?”

“You can trust me, Jesus.  Breathe.  I’m not gonna get mad.  No matter what it is.”

He glances at her.  Takes a breath.  Lets it out.  Then:

“I wanted to say….Thank you for finding me?”

On Twitter, he means, or maybe not on Twitter.  Whatever way Jesus means it, he is cringing.  Waiting for the fallout.  The late hour might have something to do with the resurgence of Jesus’s nerves about being ridiculed.  The dark.  The day of the week.  It could be a lot of things.  Dominique gets that.

She looks at him, calm.  Holds his gaze.  Extends a hand toward him, aware that in these months, they have not touched.   _He might still be a ghost_ , the little girl inside her reasons.   _He might disappear if you try_.

Jesus accepts, no hesitation.  He’s warm, not cold.  Real.  Human.  Solid.  Here.

She doesn’t look away as she says, “You found me first.”


	44. Deleted Scene: Jesus's Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final three chapters are scenes that were alluded to, but not included, in The Crossing.

At 6 PM, Jesus puts on his headphones.  He has the bathroom fan on, and his white noise machine going in the living room.  The door is closed.

He logs into Skype.  Taps Pearl’s name.  Then Mari’s.  Then Char’s.

Their faces each fill a quarter of the screen.  Jesus smiles, feels Dudley under the desk, a warm weight on Jesus’s feet.

“Hey guys,” he smiles.

“Hey,” Pearl waves, smiling.  She has Cleo in her lap.  In the years since he’s seen Pearl in person, she seems both sadder and stronger.  Losing Gracie a couple years ago had been tough and it had taken her a long time to come around to being rematched.  But having Cleo’s been good for her.  According to Pearl, dogs earn trust faster than humans.

Mariana waves, too.  She’s on her bed, headphones on.  

“Hey.  Where’s Francesca?” Jesus wonders.

“Some big sleepover with all the girls in her class.  I bet she won’t get any sleep.”

“So, when can I come crash the Adams Foster House of Horrors, Mariana?” Char asks.

Mariana makes a face.  “Ew.  No.  That would make things so much worse.”

“Well, I am available if you need backup,” Char offers.

“Jesus is my backup.”

“Well, of course, I meant if like you both needed me?  I can be there.”

“I still wish I lived closer to all of you,” Pearl sighs.

“I know.” Jesus nods.  “It was so awesome meeting Char, but we all wished you could be there.”

“So, how are things going this week?” Pearl wonders, skillfully dodging any mention of travel.  Ever since she’d run into her attacker at the local post office, she’d had a much harder time going out.  Trusting people.  Traveling’s still not a thing she’s big on.

“Eh,” Char offers, and somehow, that single word communicates a lot.

There’s a knocking sound effect and Pav joins them.  Jesus and Mariana have never met her in person, but they like her.  Can trust her. 

“Hey, guys.  Sorry, I’m late, I just got Sammy down.”

“Aw, how is he?” Pearl wonders, her face softening into a smile.

“He’s fine.  Happy to stay up til all hours and have me read to him.  But Mama needs some time with her people.”

“Well we were just talking about how we’ve been this week.  Char’s ‘eh’” Pearl intones, catching Pav up.

“Ah, okay.  All makes sense now.” Pav smiles.  Wraps a blanket around her shoulders.

Char’s one of the best people Jesus has met this year, but she’s also one of the saddest.  She covers it with jokes.  With making other people happy.  Maybe because that helps her feel happy.

They’re deep into conversation.  Mariana’s sharing, which is rare, but Jesus just glances at his phone and sees he has a text.  Habit has him checking it.  He’d always rather know what’s going on.  It’s from Dominique who has been on pretty hardcore radio silence lately.  He checks it quietly under the desk.  The timestamp says she sent it hours ago.

_Converting your baby sis into a Potterhead.  Sorry not sorry._

The picture is of Francesca’s hand holding one of Dominique’s costume props - a wand - one of the Harry Potter books is visible in the background.

“Earth to Jesus,” Mariana says.  “Are you even listening?”

“Sorry.  It’s Dominique.  Looks like Francesca went rogue from the epic sleepover.”

“Is she okay?” Mariana insists.  Pearl, Char and Pav are equally quiet, listening.

Jesus aims his phone at the camera so they can see the text and the picture.  “Looks fine to me. Let me just text back to make sure.”

_Is that Frankie? What’s she doing there?_  he sends.

Dominique texts back in seconds:

_I guess she thought you knowing how bad she wanted to spend the night would be enough for you to change your plans?  She showed up at the apartment and said no one answered her call at your place._

Jesus checks his missed calls.  One, from the apartments, just after he turned his phone volume down hours ago.  From the front doors.

She didn’t leave a message.  I had no idea it was her.

_Dominique:_

_She called me.  She told me you told her to if you ever weren’t there._

_Jesus:_

_So sorry.  I won’t be home for a bit yet.  Are you fine w/ her?_

_Dominique:_

_I am.  Text when you’re back, don’t knock._

_Jesus:_

_Will do.  Thank you so much for taking care of her._

_Dominique:_

_Of course._

Jesus doesn’t know where the lie comes from - that he isn’t home - when he clearly is.  It’s a symptom of his trauma - one of the most annoying.  Lying that comes on out of nowhere.  Lying when he doesn’t need to lie.  Because back Then, feeling vulnerable meant lying.  He felt that way all the time.  So he lied all the time.

He sets his phone down and sighs.  “Sorry, Mari, what were you saying?”

“Just that it sucks to not have anybody to talk to about this…I know we never really did when you were here…but now…I really miss you.  I’m glad we get to do this, but I feel really alone without you.”

“I know,” he echoes, understanding.  “It’s not like it would ever feel safe talking about this stuff at home, but I can always come get you and we can talk about it here.”

“Will you come and get us, too?” Pearl asks, petting Cleo.

“Don’t I wish?” Jesus sighs.

“What’s goin’ on with you?” Pav asks.  

“Who?” he asks looking around.

“You,” Pav says.  “You’re acting squirrely.”

Jesus raises his eyebrows.  He knows Pav probably the least out of their Skyport group, but she seems to have intense intuition and it’s usually right on.

He sighs again.  “I just lied to Dominique about where I was…” he admits softly.  “Told her I wasn’t home…”

“You don’t owe her your whereabouts, Jesus,” Pav comments quiet, but sure of herself.

“Why do you think you lied?” Pearl asks, trying a different approach.

“‘Cause talking about this stuff with you always makes me feel hella vulnerable and feeling vulnerable always meant I had to lie Before, so…  It’s just messed up ‘cause I almost didn’t even realize I did it til after.”

“What do you mean?” Mari asks.

“It was kinda automatic,” he admits.

“When any of us go on autopilot, disappear, whatever you wanna call it?” Char offers.  “That’s scary.  But it’s also a really human thing to do.  You ever drive home and have no idea how you got there?”

“Yes,” Pav says.  “Oh God, all the time.  Especially if Sammy’s not with me, keeping me on my toes.”

“It’s not really the same thing…” Jesus ventures.

“No.  Not this way.  This way it sneaks up on you,” Pav admits.  “But you’re surviving.  We get it.  And from what little you’ve said about Dominique?  She’d probably get it, too…Y’all still fighting?”

“I mean, we were, I thought,” Jesus considers.  “Now, I don’t know.”

“Don’t feel badly about this, Jesus.  It’s not a poor reflection on you.  It’s a reflection of your experience.  We revert to what we know.”

“You’re so  _reasonable_ ,” he laughs, in spite of himself.

“Yeah, one of my many flaws…” Pearl ventures.

“Hey, we’re all flawed.  But being reasonable is not a flaw,” Char insists.

“More like a strength,” Pav nods.

“Yeah, Mari agrees.

They talk until late into the night.   Pav bailed early ‘cause she’s one the east coast and needs to be able to get up in the morning.  So, he, Mari, Char and Pearl talked until Mari nodded off in front of the screen.

“You guys, I should really go.  But I love seeing you.  I love hanging out.  Let’s do this again.”

“Same time next week?” Char asks.

“Yeah, works for me,” Jesus nods.  “Thank you.  Means the world to have you to talk to.”

“You, too,” Pearl nods, choking up.  “Okay, I have to go before I cry.”

“Mari, wake up and go to sleep,” Char insists.

“Mmm… I’m sleeping…” she murmurs.

“Bye,” Jesus says and signs off.  When he finally turns off his computer it’s  near 11 PM.  Checks his texts again, feeling a bit like the worst brother in the world.

_Hey.  Sorry.  Back.  You can drop her off if you want._

Jesus waits a few minutes.  No response.  He gets up, urging Dudley out from under the desk.  He stands in the hall trying not to seem super creepy, whispering there:

“Dominique.  It’s me.  I’m here.  If you can hear me, I can take Francesca…” Jesus’s heart beats hard in his chest.  Can’t bring himself to knock.  For reasons he’s not entirely sure of, it brings up memories of the one Halloween he was allowed to Trick or Treat when he was There.  Where he tried to get secret messages to unsuspecting mothers with kids.

Jesus retreats and closes his door, locking it securely behind him.  Texts Dominique one more time:

_Hey.  Stopped by for her but you both must’ve crashed.  I know you prob have to work in the AM.  I’m up early, so don’t worry abt waking me.  Drop her here anytime and thanks again._


	45. Deleted Scene: Williams Family Chat Re: Accommodations

When Dominique gets back from Avoidance, she bides her time, anxious to connect with her parents about what everyone said they needed.  One of the best things about having Avoidance - to her way of thinking anyway - was that she didn’t have to worry about not having what she needed while she was there.

More than anything, Dominique wants her house to function the same.

It feels like it takes hours for both Mom and Dad to sign into the Williams Family Chat, but when they do, she’s ready.  Roberta’s in her lap, reading along:

_Dominique:  
Hey.  Do you guys have time to talk re: my bday and some other stuff?_

_Michael:  
Babe, we always have time for you._

_Jaimie:  
Sure.  What’s up?_

_Dominique:  
Well, I just talked to Jesus, Mariana and Francesca about my bday and dinner and stuff._

_Jaimie:  
How was it?_

_Dominique:  
Good.  We talked about what we each needed.  And I wondered if I could run some of the stuff they might need by you, so they can feel comfortable._

_Michael:  
Yes.  We want them (and you) to feel comfortable.  Go for it._

_Dominique:  
Mom?_

_Jaimie:  
Yes, babe, I want your friends to be comfortable, too.  I’d love to know what we can do._

_Dominique:  
Well, Mariana and Francesca will need a hand up the steps.  I can help one, but probably not both. Jesus might be able to help whoever I don’t but I just don’t want anybody stranded alone outside, if we can help it._

_Michael:  
Right.  We don’t want that either.  We’ll keep an eye out._

_Jaimie:  
What else?_

_Dominique:  
Well, Mariana asked about someplace quiet she could go if the noise started to bother her, so I offered my room.  Just making sure we can all keep it lowkey so she doesn’t feel bad for ducking out._

_Michael:  
No weirdness.  Promise._

_Jaimie:  
Um, he can’t promise NO weirdness.  He is your dad ;)_

_Dominique:  
No weirdness with Mari though?  Please?_

_Jaimie:  
No, Dom, we won’t. I was just playing.  What else?_

_Dominique:  
Well, kinda similar for Jesus.  He has a thing about wrapping paper, and so he might need to step out while I open stuff.  I offered to open before they get here and he said that’s fine._

_Jaimie:  
But he’ll wanna see you open your presents, won’t he?  That’s part of the fun.  What about gift bags?  I can do your presents up in those.  Can you ask if he’d be good with that?_

Dominique smiles.  Leave it to her mom to think of something like this, instead of Jesus just removing himself from the situation.  She opens a new text and sends:

_My mom is wondering - do you have a thing about gift bags?  She’s saying she can put my gifts in those instead of wrapping paper so you can stay._

Jesus texts back in seconds:

_Tell her THANK YOU.  That would work. :D_

Back in Family Chat, Dominique starts typing again:

_He says gift bags are a go. And thank you.  But he’s also not big on clutter.  I don’t think we’re bad at keeping things picked up just something to be aware of with presents maybe.  …Am I talking too much?  Is Dad mad?_

_Michael:  
Dad is taking notes so he can make sure your friends are taken care of while they’re here._

He sends a picture of a notepad, covered in his own shorthand.  It’s impossible to read, but Dominique knows he will know what everything says.

_Jaimie:  
Nope, he’s not mad.  He’s faster at writing than me, so he’s taking the notes._

Mom also sends a picture of Dad intensely focused on the computer screen, pen in his hand, notebook on the desk.  They know Dominique needs evidence from all sides that things are okay so she can feel safe continuing.  She kinda loves that about them - that they do it without her needing to ask, and without making her feel crappy.

_Jaimie:  
You okay?  Feel up to continuing?_

_Dominique:  
I guess.  Is it still okay?_

This time, they send a pic of them cheesing and giving thumbs ups.  It’s ridiculous and just the thing Dominique needs to let her know they’re fine with her letting them know more.

_Dominique:  
So, I know y’all wouldn’t do this but Mariana mentioned it.  If she’s having trouble looking for a word or something, don’t tease her for it, even lightly, or to lighten the mood.  Let her know we have time.  Sometimes asking yes or no questions helps.  Sometimes she wants help getting the word she’s looking for, but the biggest thing is to take the pressure off her._

_Jaimie:  
Got it._

_Michael:  
We can do that.  Supportive.  No jokes._

_Dominique:  
And when we’re talking, she finds it easiest to listen if we go one at a time.  Try to minimize the crosstalk.  We’re pretty good about that, I think.  But maybe just something to keep in mind.  I think I’m almost done, but Jesus and pictures.  If you guys wanna take a pic with him in it, he can’t have it done on the DL.  Be explicit about it.  Ask him if it’s okay to get together for a picture.  Then answer his questions if he has them.  (Sorry, was that too much?  Too bossy?)_

_Jaimie:  
You’re advocating for your friends.  It’s never too much._

_Dominique:  
Also, Mom, it’s possible Francesca might wanna bring something up with you in private.  But she’s pretty nervous about it, so if you could stay lowkey about it…_

_Jaimie:  
OK when am I not lowkey…. ;)_

_Michael:  
Babe.  Come on.  Seriously?  I’m the lowkey one. ;)_

_Dominique:  
Stop playing.  Please?  This is serious._  (Dominique’s heart hurts at how serious.)

_Jaimie:  
Dom, if Francesca needs to talk to me.  She is more than welcome to.  About anything.  I’ll be calm with her.  You don’t have to worry._

_Dominique:  
Okay._

_Michael:  
Do YOU need anything specific for tonight?_

_Dominique:  
No candles?_

_Michael:  
Check._

_Dominique:  
Lemon cake?_

_Michael:  
Check._

_Dominique:  
Spaghetti?_

_Michael:  
Check._

_Dominique:  
You?_

_Jaimie:  
Babe, you will always have us._

_Michael:  
Always._

–

That night, Dominique lies awake a long time.  She can’t sleep, but for once, it’s not trauma.  Or not the usual trauma.  This time, she’s busy exploding absolutely everything in her mind.  Convincing herself none of it will actually happen or work out - so that in case it doesn’t - she’ll be ready.

It’s a thing she does because so much of her life - for so long - has been the worst case scenario.  It’s not some distant possibility or what if.  To Dominique the worst case is a sure thing.  And that’s terrifying.  The only thing that makes it worse is when it catches her unaware.  Hence, the obsessing.

It veers into intense pretty quick and she ends up needing Mom to talk her down at 11 PM.  (Mom’s proven time and time again that she doesn’t mind a late night phone call.  That she always wants to hear from Dominique, no matter the time.)  She’s sure Mom hasn’t expected it to happen quite this often, but still, she’s glad to have here there.

“Seriously,” she says.  “It was too much to ask of you and Dad.  Just don’t worry about any of it.”

“Won’t your friends be disappointed if we cancel so soon before the party?  Won’t you be?” Mom presses.

“They probably can’t come anyway…” Dominique ventures.

“Then why did I just get a Facebook message from Mariana thanking me and saying how excited they all are to come tomorrow?”

“You did?” Dominique asks in a small voice.

“I did.  A few hours ago.  It’s happening, babe.  Lean into the joy.  Let yourself feel it.  Okay?  Can you do that?  ‘Cause I get it.  I do.  You haven’t had friends over to a birthday party for a long time.  Not since…”

“Not since,” Dominique echoes.

“But that doesn’t mean things are gonna fall apart.  We got you.  This time?  We all got you,” Mom says, soft but confident.

“You sure?” Dominique checks.

She listens as Mom draws a breath and then says:  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.  Get some rest.  And tomorrow?  You’re gonna have a fun day with your friends.”

“And after?”

“And after, it’s a Choose Your Own Adventure, babe.  Whatever you wanna do.  Wherever you wanna go.  You have people now.  And we have you.”


	46. Deleted Scene: Mariana and Francesca at Home

They’re at dinner when it starts - innocently enough - with Mariana reaching for the milk to pass Francesca.

Mom reaches too. So does Mama.

“I got it,” Mom says, taking it from Mariana.

Francesca sits, quiet. It’s a lot different here without everyone. Especially Jesus. She’s used to noise, kind of. This isn’t loud enough for her.

“So, how was your math test?” Mama asks.

Francesca ducks her head. “Hard,” she admits.

“You studied, right?” Mama asks.

“Yes,” Francesca answers, hurt. She studied a bunch but it was like all the numbers escaped out of her head through her ears while she slept the night before.

“Well, how’d you do?” Mom asks.

“13…” Francesca mumbles.

“She did study. Jesus and I both helped her,” Mariana insists, and Francesca feels happy that they talked at Avoidance. Happy to have Mari, at least, on her side.

“Oh, I bet that went like gangbusters…” Mom says like they’re silly.

“What’s 13, Francesca?” Mama insists. She’s not that patient right now. Or ever anymore.

She shrugs. “Just 13!” Francesca exclaims, frustrated. Tears are in her eyes. Moms don’t know how it is to have a bad score read out loud in front of the whole class so they all laugh. Jesus does. He told her the story once of how he failed a spelling test in fourth grade and got in a bunch of trouble. Francesca still wonders if that was here or with the bad guy. She didn’t ask.

What if she gets in a bunch of trouble now?

“Show it to me,” Mama says, telling not asking.

Francesca sighs and gets up from the table. Their spaghetti doesn’t have meatballs. It’s not close to as good as Michael and Jaimie’s spaghetti. She’s not even hungry for it anyway.

She goes to get her bag and finds the paper, crumpled at the bottom.

“There’s not a grade, see. So I really don’t know…” she points out.

“That’s because this is an F,” Mama says, looking at Francesca, upset.

“We don’t have those grades,” Francesca protests, quiet.

“It’s below an N, Francesca. It means you didn’t pass,” Mom barges in. “How much did you study?”

“A lot!”

“Well, 13 out of 20 doesn’t look like a lot of effort,” Mama joins in.

Francesca’s crying. She almost doesn’t see Mariana nod at her like she has a plan. Almost. But luckily, she does remember what Dominique said: They’re on the same team. So that means Francesca’s not alone right now.

–

Under the table so Moms don’t notice, Mari texts the fireworks emoji to both Jesus and Dominique via group text. Hopes if Jesus can’t come for them, Dominique can. Hopes Dominique even gets what fireworks are supposed to mean, since that was a thing Mari and Jesus shared, no one else.

“I very much doubt you studied a lot with your brother and sister if this is the grade you brought home,” Mom insists.

“Phone,” Mama says, holding out her hand. Sobbing now, Francesca hands hers over.

“And no more ‘studying’ at Jesus’s. Since we know how well that’s going…” Mom says. “You study here. School and home. And no electronics.”

“Mariana. Your phone, too. I don’t want Francesca thinking she can convince you to borrow yours to text her friends.”

“What friends!” Francesca screams. “I don’t have any!”

Mariana gets up to walk around the table and hand her phone over, intentionally biding as much time as she can. It’s enough to see that both Jesus and Dominique have gotten the emoji. They don’t text back.

Silently, Mariana hands over her phone. Then leaves the table with Francesca, ignoring Moms as they call them back to finish dinner. Mariana knows better than to leave Frankie alone when she is this upset.

When they get to their room, Mariana shuts and locks it. Opens her arms.

Francesca crosses her own arms. Keeping her distance.

“I texted,” Mariana whispers. “They’re coming.”

“Moms will send them away…” Francesca says brokenly.

“No way. They always let company come in.” Mariana reassures. “Can I?” she asks, arms still open.

“I’m stupid. Just a stupid baby nothing…”

“I think…you mean awesome baby sister…” Mariana ventures, willing the words to come now when she most needs them.

“No, I didn’t…” Francesca pouts.

Eventually, Mariana sits on her bed and pats the space beside her. Francesca comes on her own, taking her time, and not looking Mariana in the eyes.

“I did study,” Francesca says like she’s begging.

“I know. You did,” Mariana agrees, and Francesca leans into her.

It takes forever for Jesus, Dudley and Dominique to arrive. It’s dark and Mariana’s sure that’s complicating things for Jesus, and maybe Dominique, too. But when the doorbell rings, it’s loud enough for them to hear all the way upstairs. Mariana knows they used it on purpose.

Distantly, she can hear Mom, opening the door, and greeting Jesus and Dominique surprised. Asking why they didn’t just come in.

“Dudley likes to press buttons,” Jesus explains, and Mariana smiles to herself.

“They’re here,” Mariana reassures, her arm around Francesca. “It’s gonna be okay now.”

In no time, Mariana can hear Dominique asking if it’s okay to come upstairs and say hi. While Jesus is sitting down with Moms in the kitchen to talk.

There’s a tap on their bedroom door. “It’s Dominique and Roberta. Can we come in?”

Francesca smiles and wipes her eyes, walking over and unlocking the door. She barrels into Dominique and buries her face in Roberta’s fur.

“Hey… Hey guys…” Dominique greets. “Can I sit down?”

Francesca will not let go of Dominique so they walk together over to Frankie’s bed. Mariana gets up to close the bedroom door again. Lock it. Hopes Dominique won’t mind.

“What happened?” Dominique checks in, holding Francesca close.

Francesca can’t talk. She just bursts into fresh tears. It’s a sight that Mariana’s rarely seen. But maybe being allowed to have her guard down with The Avoiders has lessened her defenses a little bit.

Unfortunately, seeing Francesca so upset, and being forced into giving up her only way of calling for backup has Mariana stressed into silence, too.

“Mariana. Sit down, babe. There’s room for three,” Dominique insists, patting the other side of her.

So Mariana does, relieved as Dominique puts an arm around her as well.

“They said I can’t come over,” Francesca sobs.

“Hey… You absolutely can come over,” Dominique reassures. “Jesus and I are gonna make sure. Okay?”

Mariana can see Francesca shaking. Reaches out for her hand. Holds on. Francesca does, too, her nails digging in.

“Math test,” Mariana whispers to Dominique. “She struggled on it…and because she studied with me and Jesus…” Mariana shrugs. “They took our phones.”

Dominique’s eyes widen. “All right. This is some toxic shit here…”

Francesca sits up abruptly. “Language…” she can’t help saying, even in her upset.

“Sorry. I’m just saying. We gotta get out of here. Stick with me. Jesus and I drove separately. So, we’re going to my parents’.”

–

Dominique walks, head up, confident. She’s holding Roberta, but knows Francesca and Mariana are right with her.

She leads the way down the stairs and calls into the kitchen. “We’re going to my folks’ for a bit.” Then, she just keeps walking. Out the door. To the car. She puts Roberta in the carrier, and opens the back door and the passenger door, unsure of who will sit where.

When everyone’s comfortable, she pulls out.

–

“So, what’s going on?” Jesus asks, keeping Moms’ attention the best he can once Dominique gets Mari and Frankie out.

“Nothing. The girls are just being dramatic, that’s all,” Mom rolls her eyes. “Francesca failed a test at school and didn’t like being told she can’t study with you anymore.”

Jesus raises his eyebrows. “What do I have to do with this?”

“She says she studied a lot at your house,” Mama insists, showing Jesus the test. The 13/20 circled in red on top.

“She did. Division’s hard,” Jesus maintains.

“Honey, either she’s lying about studying with you, or she’s not studying correctly.” Mama says, out of patience.

“Or she’s got CP and that makes math extra hard for her.” Jesus isn’t backing down on this. As Francesca’s grown, he’s started reading stuff by adults who have CP. Almost all of them talk about having difficulty in math.

“Oh, please. You need to stop making excuses for her,” Mom scoffs.

Jesus is silent. “When…exactly…did you stop respecting her?” he asks calmly.

“Jesus…” Mama objects. “It’s not like that. You’re not here all the time. You don’t see how she can be.”

“I do, though. I see her,” Jesus promises. “You see she failed a test. I see why she failed. It’s not her fault. She did try. She did study. She understood the stuff. But she says it looks different on tests.”

“Well, of course it looks different,” Mama exclaims.

“She means… She can’t, like, translate the information to a new set of problems. She can do the ones we studied but if she gets new ones? It doesn’t make sense to her anymore.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do, Jesus?” Mom asks, at her wit’s end.

“I’m not her parent…but I don’t think the answer is punishing her for something she really can’t help…” Jesus says, treading super carefully.

“I could see if her math teacher offers any after school help…” Mama ventures. “Or if there’s peer tutoring? Since all the study time with me doesn’t seem to be helping either…”

“So, I guess we should give them these back…” Mom sighs.

Jesus’s eyes widen as he sees Mariana and Francesca’s phones on the table.

“I know. Too much.” Mom admits. “We just…feel out of our depth with her…”

“You could ask…”

“Who?” Mom presses.

“Literally anyone. Francesca, first. But also me, Mari or Dominique. We all kinda get each other. And we can help explain stuff to you guys that she doesn’t know how to say specifically yet…” Jesus scratches Dudley’s head affectionately.

“Like her math not translating…” Lena nods.

“Yeah,” Jesus agrees.

“All right. Can you please go get your sisters from Dominique’s parents house now?”

“And if they wanna stay over? At the apartment?” he checks.

“That’s fine,” Mom relents. “But we would like to talk to Francesca.”

“Okay. I’ll bring their phones. Have her call you,” Jesus decides.

“Good to see you,” Mama says, reaching up to hug him.

Jesus hugs her back, even though she didn’t ask before she did it. It seems like moving out undid all of that. Boundaries. Respect. At least he can still be here and advocate for Francesca. At least his voice still carries weight.

–

It takes Francesca a long time to calm down. But Dominique and Mariana sing in the car and that helps her not want to hate and hurt herself for failing. She doesn’t know all the words to what they’re singing, but can join in, on the melody, just singing “oohs” while Mariana and Dominique sing the real words, above and below her:

“You taught me the courage of stars before you left. How life carries on endlessly even after death. With shortness of breath, you explain the infinite. How rare and beautiful it is to even exist. And I couldn’t help but ask you to say it all again. I tried to write it down but I could never find a pen. I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time. That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes.”

The words make Francesca feel full. And here. And singing with Mariana and Dominique, she belongs somewhere. It makes her remember being an Avoider and how Jesus and Dominique kept their promise and came for her and Mariana when got to be too hard at home.

When they get to Michael and Jaimie’s, it’s like Francesca can breathe. She wants to run into Jaimie’s arms - to say her name loud - only she doesn’t.

She stays quiet. Because it hurts when Moms think she’s stupid.

It doesn’t matter that Michael came and helped her and Mari up the front steps with no railing. Or said they were happy she came. Okay, it does a little. But Francesca still hurts inside.

She can hear Dominique telling her mom that she and Mari just needed a break, and Jaimie smiles and invites them to sit down. They turn off the TV (seriously can they tell by looking at Francesca that she’s so grounded right now?) and come back to sit around the dining room table and talk.

Francesca doesn’t want to talk to anyone ever. Her whole life is ruined by not being able to go to Jesus’s anymore. And not having her phone to text The Avoiders if she needs them. She really is alone.

Her hands are already in her lap, so it’s not like anybody would notice if she…

Dominique sits down next to her. “You wanna sit with me?” she asks.

Wordlessly, Francesca joins her. It doesn’t matter that she’s ten and Moms would probably say she’s too big. Jesus says every age person needs to be held if they want to. She leans against Dominique. Threads their fingers together. Then apart. Again. Again. Again.

She’s not listening to the adults. Just her own thoughts. Nobody knows them, just her.

“Francesca?”

Oops. That’s Jaimie talking to her.

“What?” she says.

“Did you want something to drink, babe?”

“No, thank you,” Francesca sighs.

“Jesus is talking to Moms,” Mariana offers. “It’ll be okay.”

Francesca ignores her. Not to be rude, just because why listen. Everything’s already ruined and it’s her own fault, as usual.

She just stays on Dominique’s lap while her Mom and Dad play Scrabble and Mariana watches. And Dominique watches.

Eventually, Jesus gets there. Gives Francesca her phone back. Mariana, too.

“Moms wanna talk to you. Give them a call, okay? They’re not mad,” Jesus encourages.

“You just tell me.” Francesca insists. She’s feeling too wrong to talk to them.

“Well,” Jesus crouches by the chair she’s in with Dominique. “You’re not grounded. Moms know it’s not your fault about the math test.”

“I told them, but they didn’t believe me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’ll always talk to them for you if you need. I always believe you. I know it’s not your fault. And you can still come to my place if you want.”

Francesca lunges at Jesus, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I do. I want to. Oh my gosh. I didn’t ask.” She lets go. Backs up. “Sorry, Jesus.”

“Thanks, buddy, I appreciate that.”

“You guys wanna hang out?” Michael asks. “There’s always room for more at the Scrabble table.”

“Nah, we should get going,” Jesus decides.

So, Francesca slides off Dominique’s lap. “You guys really do take care of me, huh?” she observes. “Mariana, you texted for me. Helped me. Dominique, you drove us. Jesus, you talked to Moms. And Michael and Jaimie let us have Avoidance here.”

For a second, it almost feels like she’s surrounded by superheroes. With invisible capes and powers no one understands but really, everyone should have. Super Strength Understanding. Supersonic Adapting. Accommodationing At The Speed of Light.

Francesca wonders what super power she would have. For a long time, she thought maybe she’d be invisible, but she kinda feels like that in the real world already. So she’d wanna have something else. Maybe magical singing that changed people’s minds and hearts. Made them listen. If that was really a super power.

They sound like a group of superheroes anyway. Dominique being brave. Mariana being so smart to text before her phone got taken away. And Jesus being able to be the distraction they needed, so they could get away, and taking time to explain to Moms so she would not be in trouble.

“Wait. This was Avoidance?” Michael asks and it’s super funny.

“Yes,” Francesca grins. She’s feeling almost all the way back to a person now.

They’re leaving when Dominique asks Mariana: “So fireworks… That’s like…the official Adams Foster SOS signal?” She’s trying to carry Roberta in her arms, but Roberta is super crabby. Mariana offers and Roberta acts like an angel who never did one thing wrong in her life. She even purrs.

“Basically,” Mariana nods.

“I started it,” Jesus says.

“He did.” Mariana confirms.

“Can we sleep at your house?” Francesca asks.

“You bet.”

When they leave together, all walking next to each other, all helping each other, Francesca feels all the way back. She’s herself again. And being herself is okay. With the people who see her. Get her. Love her.

Her people:

The Avoiders.

 


End file.
